


Love Comes Later

by BrokenWings0712



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Best Friends, Brotherly Meddling, Destiel-Freeform, Ellen and Mary are BFFs because why not, F/M, Fake Marriage, Family Drama, Fluff and Smut, Hate Speech, M/M, Mild Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenWings0712/pseuds/BrokenWings0712
Summary: “I screwed up,” Castiel chokes, leaning forward to cradle his head in his hands. His sunglasses slide back and slip to the concrete, but he can’t find the energy to retrieve them. Not now. “God, Dean. What am I going to do?”“What are you talking about, man?” Dean grabs his phone and starts digging, and Castiel can feel the moment Dean gets it, not because of the curses he’s spewing under his breath but because of the way the air shifts, winding tight around them. “Dude, you—” Dean huffs and tries again. “You told your mom you’re married?”In order to save face at Gabriel's wedding after a drunken comment to his estranged mother, Castiel and Dean return to Lawrence pretending to be married. So, why is no one surprised?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Kali (Supernatural), Michael/Anna Milton, Naomi/Chuck Shurley
Comments: 138
Kudos: 297





	1. Chapter 1

“Cas! You ready yet, or what?”

Castiel rolls his eyes as Dean pounds up the stairs and shoulders his bag but stops short of actually heading down just yet. Instead, he slips into the bathroom across the hall and kicks the door shut, leaning heavily against the double sink while the animal masquerading as his best friend blows into his room.

“Dude! Where’s your stuff? Have you even started packing?”

Castiel stifles a laugh and clears his throat. “Actually,” he calls, “I wasn’t sure if I should take my blue suit or the black.”

“Suit?!” Dean yells, his voice hitting an octave Castiel hasn’t heard out of the guy since they were twelve and on the cusp of puberty. “The hell you taking a suit for, man? It’s Vegas, not a freaking funeral!”

“Do we still have that garment bag, or maybe I should wear it, just in case. What do you think?”

“What do I…?” Dean’s fists pound heavily on the door. “Have you lost your mind? Come on, angel! We gotta—"

Castiel pulls the door open, stepping aside just as Dean falls through. Crossing his arms, he fights the urge to outright laugh and instead furrows his brow. “What are you doing? We have to be on the road so we don’t hit traffic. Now are you ready or not?”

Dean throws up a finger, his mouth working around an insult and coming up short. After several moments of staring into his friend’s smug face, he finally mutters, “Get in the damn car.”

Castiel waves his hand with a flourish. “Waiting on you, Mr. Winchester, as always.”

They continue to bicker as they make their way down the stairs and through the kitchen to the garage. Looking around one last time to make sure the house is in order, Castiel nods to himself and, when Dean whistles, tosses his duffle to the man to be placed in the trunk while he locks up.

“Did you get the snacks?” Castiel asks, rounding the hood and peeking through the windows of Dean’s most prized possession.

“Yup,” Dean says. He begins ticking off the items on his fingers as he lists them aloud. “Bread, mayo, mustard, a pound and a half of honey ham, your weird ass trail mix, my M&Ms, chips, a case of cold drinks and half a case of bottled, high quality H2O.” He raps his knuckles lightly on Baby’s roof. “We missing anything?”

Castiel’s lips quirk up, and he lifts an eyebrow. “Ice?”

Dean snaps his fingers and nods. “Right! Yes. Don’t let me forget to grab a bag when we hit the Gas n’ Sip.”

It’s nearly twelve hours from Denver to Las Vegas, but it’s been their vacation go-to for years, and because Dean absolutely refuses to get on a plane, they’re used to the drive. They pull over for lunch just north of Monroe Peak and get rid of the trash they’ve accumulated at the various fill ups along the way, but all in all it’s a pretty straight shot to the Strip.

As they near the hotel, Castiel digs under the seat for the starter cash they put aside—Castiel is a blackjack fiend and can easily double their funds in only a few hours at the tables—and he tucks the envelope into his inner coat pocket for safe keeping. They’ll divvy it up once they reach their room, but for now, it’s safest out of sight from prying eyes. Next, it’s on to the check-in desk where Dean bats his eyes and sweet-talks the young woman into handing over more buffet vouchers than they could possibly hope to use during their stay, but hey, they’ll be back in the spring, so they can use the leftovers then. Throwing open the curtains to their room and gazing out over the city, Dean turns and spreads his arms wide.

“Welcome to Sin City.”  
_____________

A few hours later, pockets full of cash and riding a pleasant buzz, they stroll into The Equalizer. Multicolored strobe lights bounce off every available surface, highlighting the sensuous, twisting movements of the men and women on stage, and the gyrating bodies pressed against each other sparkle with glitter and what looks like neon paint. Craning his head to get a better look, Dean spots a bright orange handprint on a woman’s scantily clad ass and grins. He loves theme nights.

A chrome bar stretches along the wall to their right, and Dean whistles sharply to get the bartender’s attention, holding up two fingers and pushing into the crowd that’s three deep all the way around the counter. Fishing a few bills out of his wallet, he slides them across the bar and starts a tab, informing the woman that he’ll need a tray of mixed shots delivered to their table and that at least four should be tequila.

Scooping up the beers and making his way over to their usual corner booth, Dean’s eyes find Cas’s, and he raises one of the drinks. A woman is already chatting him up, her hands splayed wide over his white button up and slowly marking a colorful trail down to his jeans, and though Cas seems interested, his eyes keep bouncing off her cleavage like the blushing virgin he hasn’t been since, oh, freshman year of college? Or do hand jobs count? Not that Cas had much experience with those either before moving away. The poor guy was too terrified to try much more than kissing before he finished high school and got out from under his mother’s thumb. Well, if Dean knows anything, it’s how to get his buddy to loosen up, and that’s exactly what he sets out to do.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean greets, sliding into the booth and passing a beer to Cas. He has to raise his voice to make sure she hears him over the music, but that’s okay. It’s not like they’ll be having a full-fledged conversation. “What’s your name?”

Her eyes narrow some, but she quickly covers by gazing up through her lashes. “Chastity,” she replies, biting her lip.

“Oh, _really?_ ” Dean’s grin grows impossibly wider, and he produces a twenty from his pocket. “My buddy here is a little shy. Think you can get him to loosen up a bit?”

“Chastity” snatches the bill and makes it disappear just as quickly before turning to Cas and toying with the top button of his shirt. Cas’s throat constricts as she straddles his thighs, and Dean takes a long pull of his beer, draining half the bottle in one go. A buff waiter sidles up moments later and begins lining shot after shot of colorful liquid in a neat row across the table, and Dean zeroes in on those graced with limes immediately. After tipping him—because really, he wants to get on the employees’ good sides early so they can turn a great night into an awesome one—he takes just enough time to check out the dude’s leather-covered thighs before plucking the lime out of a glass and handing it to the woman grinding down on his best friend’s crotch. She tips Cas’s head back and fits the glass to his lips, and even though Cas narrows his eyes at Dean once the tequila hits his tongue, he finishes it quickly and doesn’t refuse when Chastity blindly takes another.

It's not like Cas doesn’t know what’s going on. Once they learned his weakness for tequila—way back in college at their favorite bar’s trivia night of all things—Dean made sure to hold the info in his back pocket, and when they finally made it to Vegas for the first time, he began coaxing his friend into doing “just one shot,” which always led to the usually buttoned up guy doing several more. Now, it’s basically a tradition, as much as coming to their favorite strip club and dancing the night—and their newly acquired funds—away.

A few hours later, they’re both covered in glitter and paint and God knows what other questionable substances when Dean pulls his eyes away from the gorgeous brunette in his lap and sees Cas tonsil-deep down some twinky dancer’s throat. The guy is still partially dressed, the pinstripe suspenders vaguely reminding Dean of a performer that’d gone with a Weiner Hut gimmick, but Cas is down to a plain white tee, and the dancer is making a play for the button fly on his jeans.

Biting back a groan when the brunette plants her hands on the floor and twists her hips just so, Dean reluctantly taps her hip and waits for her to climb off him before apologizing. “You were doing, uh…” He huffs and grins, the sight of her bare chest reminding him of exactly what he’d just stopped. “You’re amazing, really, but if I don’t get my buddy out of here, he’ll do something not-so amazing, and someone’s gotta watch out for the dude.”

“You sure about that?” the brunette asks. Casting a look at the men becoming more entangled by the second on the other side of the booth, she quirks a brow and rests her hands on her hips. The move pushes her ample chest forward, and Dean bites the inside of his lip. “He seems to be doing just fine on his own.”

“Yeah,” he rasps as a muffled groan escapes Cas’s chest. “I’m sure.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Love to watch you leave…” Dean murmurs as her hips sway into the thinning crowd. Glancing down at his watch, he sees its nearing closing time anyway, so they won’t miss out on much by going ahead and calling it a night. Turning, he grabs the twink’s shoulder before he can fully lay Cas down on the plush bench. “Whoa there, Alfie. I don’t think he agreed to all that.”

“Get lost,” the kid—and Jesus, he really can’t be more than nineteen—snaps. 

There’s fire in his eyes, sure, but there’s also a hunger behind them, and Dean wonders if he’s always been this skinny or if that’s an unfortunate side effect of his circumstances. Come to think of it, Dean’s positive they haven’t seen him here before, and considering they’re down this way at least twice a year and that The Equalizer is known for having a low employee turnover rate, that’s saying something.

“Here.” Dean digs out his wallet, turning his shoulders away from the crowd lest the wrong person catch him in the act. Folding a couple of hundreds inside a twenty, he hands the cash over and waves the kid off before he gets a good look at how much Dean paid him.

Cas slurs out a complaint or two when Dean pulls him upright, but he allows him to slip his arm around his waist and haul him to his feet. “Deeeeeannnnn,” he moans, gripping Dean’s jacket and throwing them dangerously off balance. Luckily, Dean is able to catch himself on the bar before Cas’s weight can throw them both to the ground and flashes his card at the bartender. “Dean, I was ‘aving funnnnn. He’s so swee’, Dean.”

“Yeah, I bet he was,” Dean grunts. After he settles their tab, he steers them outside, nodding at the security team as they pass. “You gonna marry him?”

Cas’s face screws up, and he shouts, “O’course not! ‘M not int-int-looking for that.”

“Yeah, I know, man. Perks of being aromantic. You think you can—” Cas lurches forward, hurling the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk and causing a few passersby to jump out of the way with a litany of colorful complaints. “That’s it. Okay.” Dean rubs soothing circles into Cas’s back. “Let it out. Better here than on the hotel carpet, am I right?”

“Always,” Cas groans. “Yer always right, an’ smart,” he adds, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Dean winces when that same hand cups his cheek but indulges his friend’s ramblings for the time being, staring into his big blue eyes and wondering how they always seem to glow, lit up even in the darkness. “Yer so smart, Dean. You don’ know how smart you are.”

Gently taking the hand away from his face, Dean turns Cas around and guides him up the strip until they reach the hotel. Once there, Cas breaks from his incessant rambling to again puke, this time into a potted plant beside the elevator bank while Dean distracts the hotel staff when they look too closely. As soon as the doors slide open, Dean ushers Cas inside and repeatedly jams the button to the tenth floor so they can get the hell outta dodge before someone catches wind of their mess and adds it to their bill.

When the elevator coasts to a stop, the change topples Cas, pushing both men into the corner, and Dean has to blink and flatten his hand against his stomach to keep from losing the remnants of the pie bar he’d visited in the casino. “Whoa, I think I had a little much myself.”

“…’n so pretty, Dean,” Cas continues when they reach the room. Dean leans him against the wall, keeping his palm flattened against Cas’s chest to make sure he won’t tip over, and unlocks the door. “They deserve the best, don’ you think? Deserve ta ‘ave nice custom’rs once in a while.”

Shaking his head, Dean leads him inside. “That doesn’t mean you can just pay them to chat, man. They’ll get in trouble, you know that.” He hesitates a moment but steers Cas into the attached bathroom, settling him on the closed toilet. “Come on, time to wash up.”

A loopy grin stretches across Cas’s face when Dean lifts his shirt, and as the material is pulled over his head, the fucker winks up at him. “You tryin’ ta get me naked?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean deadpans. “You know I can’t keep my hands off all this.”

“S’good, innit?”

They break into laughter, their bodies shaking with the force of it, and Dean wipes his eyes before gesturing at Cas’s jeans. “Come on, angel. Lose the pants while I start the shower.”

Later, when Dean is bundling a freshly washed Cas into a fluffy towel and helping him pull clean boxers up his thighs, Cas sighs and rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. “So good to me. What’d I do ta ‘serve you, hmm?”

Tossing the towel over his shoulder, Dean stares questioningly at his best friend. “What do you mean?” Cas just sniffles, and, yeah, Dean needs to get him into bed ASAP. The shower may have sobered him up enough that he’s not slurring _all_ his words, but he’s still sloshed, and it won’t be long before crying Cas makes an appearance. Pushing him onto the bed, Dean scoops Cas’s feet up and tucks the thick comforter around his body. Then he drops into a crouch and catches Cas’s wandering hand. “You’re the best man I know, Cas, and you deserve the world.”

No matter how many times they do this, how many times his friend gets plastered and Dean takes care of him, the kiss Cas always plants on him at some point catches Dean off guard, and he can’t help but lean into it when Cas licks into his mouth, but then, just as it starts to deepen, just when Dean’s brain is succumbing to the alcohol-induced haze and briefly considering taking things farther than either would ever do sober, Cas is pulling away, sighing contentedly before burrowing into the blankets and falling asleep almost immediately, his hand still clasped between Dean’s own.

Dean spares a moment to brush a wayward curl off of Cas’s forehead, and then he rises into a back-popping stretch, thinking that maybe he’ll use one of those frou-frou scented hotel soaps to work up a good bubble bath once he gets all this damned paint off himself.  
_____________

Throwing out a hand, Castiel fumbles for his phone and squints at the screen. “Gabriel?” he mutters. “’Lo?”

“Oh! So, he _is_ alive!”

Damn it all to hell.

“Hello, Mother.” Castiel rolls onto his back and squashes the urge to just hang up because even riding the last waves of the tequila, he knows it won’t do any good. Spying the Gatorade on the bedside table, he sits up and tucks the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can crack the cap and use the drink to wash down the two Advil beside it. “I assume Gabriel knows you’re using his phone?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Naomi snaps.

“Nevermind,” he says. He sways slightly as he stands but through pure luck manages not to fall on his way to where the light from the bathroom glows through the small crack in the door. Pushing the door open, he squints and slaps his free hand over his eyes until he adjusts to the sudden brightness. “May I ask why you’re calling?”

“Your brother’s wedding is only a week away.”

“I’m aware.”

“We’re finalizing plans.”

Castiel leans over the counter and frowns at his reflection before pinching a strand covered with hot pink…something between two fingers. He remembers going to The Equalizer but doesn’t recall having a paintball fight with anyone, but then, there were a lot of colors. He’ll have to ask Dean in the morning. “And?”

“There’s been some reshuffling with the seating, and I felt it pertinent to confirm you’ll be coming alone before moving your placement.”

That gets his attention. “Who said I’ll be alone?”

“You failed to fill out and return an R.S.V.P., and considering your…lifestyle choices…one can only assume—”

“My lifestyle?!” Castiel nearly shouts. He winces and peeks into the main room, but Dean is still sprawled out and unmoving, so he gently eases the bathroom door shut. “Mother, I’m pan, not a leper. Besides, I’m the best man. I didn’t think there was ever a question as to my being there.”

Naomi sighs, the sound long and drawn out, and Castiel can just see her shaking her head. “Honestly, Castiel. Pan? I don’t even know what that means. When will you put this liberal phase to rest and find yourself a nice girl to make a life with?”

Maybe it’s the remaining alcohol coursing hot through his system, or maybe it’s the way she says it, but something snaps inside him, and Castiel finds himself blurting, “I have a life! A good one! With my husband!”

The phone is silent long enough that Castiel wonders briefly if she’s hung up on him, but a quick glance at the screen shows the seconds still ticking slowly by, so he puts it back to his ear. After what seems like ages, Naomi sneers, “ _Really?_ ”

“Yes!”

“Well, I simply cannot wait to meet this boy,” Naomi says with zero inflection. “You’re bringing him to the wedding?”

Castiel flounders a second, his heart pounding in his chest, and nods. Then, after realizing she can’t see him, manages another, though quieter, “Yes.”

Naomi huffs, and Castiel takes momentary pride in throwing the normally cold woman off balance for once. “Well, I’ll be sure to make amendments in the arrangements, though I can’t imagine why you failed to mention this information earlier. It would have been immensely helpful before now. Perhaps if you’d check in with your mother once in a while, I’d know these things. I’ll see you in a few days, Castiel.”

And just like that, she’s gone. Shaking off the conversation, Castiel stumbles to the toilet and relieves himself before falling back into bed, the phone and its blinking battery indicator forgotten by the sink.  
_____________

“Never. Again.”

Dean snickers, cracking another beer before passing it over. “We’ll see,” is all he says as they cheers, but Castiel shakes his head and regrets it immediately when pain spikes through his temples.

“Why do you do this to me?”

“What do you mean?”

Castiel lowers his sunglasses enough to glare at his friend. “You know what.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean says innocently. “I mean, it’s not like you can blame me for everything you did last night. As a matter of fact, I kept you from being taken advantage of, so really, you oughta thank me, man. Plus,” he whips his phone out, swiping over the screen before handing it over, “I took pictures.”

“No,” Castiel moans, thumbing through the shots. In them, he can see himself—or his doppleganger, which is what he’ll say if these ever see the light of day—engaging in various acts of hedonism with one, two, three… “How many people did I kiss?!”

Dean shrugs, still grinning. “I got no idea. I tried to get pictures of all of ‘em, but you know how that goes. I mean, one second you’re getting a lap dance, and the next you’re climbing on the bar and giving the dancers a run for their money.”

“So that’s where my shirt went?”

“Yup.”

“This is…” Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Never. Again.”

“To doing it all in another six months,” Dean says. 

After clinking the necks of their bottles a second time, they stretch out in their chairs and let loose mirroring sighs of contentment. For just a moment, as Castiel closes his eyes to the desert sun, letting it warm his skin and deepen his tan, he can forget the drama about to descend on his life. After all, that’s why they booked this trip, so he could relax before seeing his parents for the first time since college graduation. Here, side by side with his best friend, he can forget the judgement about to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Here, he can be at peace.

Of course, that peace shatters into a thousand tiny pieces moments later as his phone buzzes to life after he disconnects it from the power bank he brought with them. As he swipes the various emails and social media notifications from the screen in order to get to the texts at the bottom, a growing ball of dread curls in the pit of his stomach.

The first one, from Michael, Castiel’s oldest brother, isn’t so bad, just instructions to call him, and even the one from Balthazar is just a string of shocked emojis, but the others…

_Cassie, you’d better have a good explanation for not telling me you got hitched. Mom is going nuts, but at least it’s taken her attention off Kali. Pretty sure they were about to throw down._

_Castiel, your father and I would like to invite you and your husband to stay with us during the holidays. The main house is full, but you may settle into the pool house. I’m sure you and your husband will appreciate the benefit of the added privacy._

With the texts comes a fuzzy memory from the night before of a conversation with his mother and an offhanded remark that has him wishing he could crawl in a hole and die. Just to make sure he isn’t hallucinating, that this isn’t all some tequila-induced fugue state, Castiel checks his call history and makes a sound similar to that of a dying cat when he sees his brother’s number from around four this morning.

“What did I do?” Castiel breathes.

“Whoa there, angel. Everything alright?”

And _that_ , the nickname Dean reserves only for him, has another memory rearing its ugly head. Castiel flushes, heat that has nothing to do with the ninety degree weather rushing to his hairline and spreading down his chest, but he and Dean won’t talk about the kiss they shared the night before. They never do because acknowledging it would make it real, and that would only lead to them asking why Castiel kissed his best friend and why Dean continues to order tequila shots when he knows how they’ll make Castiel react.

“I screwed up,” Castiel chokes, leaning forward to cradle his head in his hands. His sunglasses slide back and slip to the concrete, but he can’t find the energy to retrieve them. Not now. “God, Dean. What am I going to do?”

“What are you talking about, man?” Dean grabs his phone and starts digging, and Castiel can feel the moment Dean gets it, not because of the curses he’s spewing under his breath but because of the way the air shifts, winding tight around them. “Dude, you—” Dean huffs and tries again. “You told your mom you’re _married_?”

Swallowing, Castiel nods weakly. “It would appear that way, yes. And my,” he takes a shuddering breath, “my family expects to meet my husband in five days, and he’s supposed to join me at the wedding. I—”

Immediately, Dean’s hands are on him, fingers wrapping tightly around his biceps and steadying him. Somehow, though Castiel can’t fathom as to where, he finds the strength to look up, and Dean is right there, his familiar features doing wonders to calm Castiel’s racing heart. “We’ll figure it out, okay? We will.”

“How can I show my face now, Dean? It was going to be bad enough knowing all the things they’ve said about me over the years, but this…” He shrugs helplessly, and Dean folds him into a hug.

“S’okay, angel,” Dean murmurs into his hair. 

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut against the tears he can feel fighting for air and buries his face in Dean’s neck, and he should be embarrassed about breaking down in front of all these people, ashamed even, but as Dean tightens his hold, hands digging into the bare skin of Castiel’s back, he feels none of that. There’s only the gripping anxiety of facing his ultra-conservative family and their pretentious friends and knowing they all see him as a horrible failure, an outlier, undeniably and disgustingly _other_.

After several long moments, Castiel breaks the hold and swipes angrily at his face. Damn them for holding this much power over him after so many years. Damn his inner child still yearning to meet impossible expectations. Damn them all.

“We’ll lie,” Dean says. “We’ll tell them he got sick, or—”

Castiel shakes his head and pulls back, his voice rougher than usual. “No. They’ll know, or they’ll want to see pictures, and I have none. She won’t be satisfied until she sees a living, breathing man beside me, and even then…” He laughs, but the sound falls flat between them, and he shrugs again. “I fucked up.”

Dean’s hands linger on either side of Castiel’s neck, and his mouth is pressed into a thin line, but Castiel can see the gears turning behind his green eyes, mind already working on any number of possible solutions. In the end, when Dean takes a breath and locks onto Castiel’s gaze, there’s only one he offers:

“I could be your husband.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean is almost to the door when the footsteps behind him abruptly come to a stop. Turning on his heel, he raises an eyebrow in question.

“I don’t know about this,” Cas admits, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. A gust of wind ruffles the hair on top of his head, and Cas actually kicks at the sidewalk like a child before glancing up at Dean and then away just as quickly.

“Dude, we’ve been over this. It’s fine, alright? I wouldn’t have suggested the idea if I wasn’t willing to go along with it. Besides, it’s just while we’re at your parents’. It’s not like we have to keep up the act twenty-four seven.” Cas is nodding along before Dean finishes, but he still doesn’t look convinced, so Dean grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come on, angel,” he says, dragging his buddy to the door. “Let’s put a ring on that finger.”

The inside of the store is immaculate, all crystal chandeliers and glossy marble, and Dean automatically rubs the fingers of his free hand together, feeling the greasy residue of the last car he’d worked on slide between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. He really should have washed up before picking Cas up at home, but he’d gotten distracted when a customer rolled into the lot right as he was closing up for the day, and the woman looked so harried juggling a smoking engine and three small children that he just didn’t have the heart to turn her away, especially when he’d be closed for the next few weeks. The woman at the counter gives them both a once over, and he can tell she’s already writing them off as a waste of time when her thin lips settle into a line.

“May I help you, gentlemen?” she asks. “We don’t offer our bathrooms to the public.”

Cas’s throat clicks behind him, and Dean pulls him into his side before pasting on his most charming grin. “Actually,” he says, “my fiancé and I are here to pick up our wedding bands.”

The tension in the room eases somewhat, and the woman gestures to an area on the far side of the room before rounding the counter and heading that way. “Is there a specific style or price range you’re working with?”

“I’m not sure,” Cas starts, but Dean quickly cuts him off.

“I ordered them Monday, just need to pick ‘em up.” Cas stares up at him in slack-jawed surprise, but Dean keeps his eyes on the woman. “Name’s Winchester.”

“Oh, yes. Of course, Mr. Winchester.” She holds up a finger and winks, her stiff demeanor all but gone. “I’ll be right back.”

“You ordered them already?” Cas hisses once she’s gone. He doesn’t sound angry, just confused by the new information.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean nods. “You’ve had enough on your plate this week without worrying about this, too. I just wanted to help.”

“So, why am I here today? You could have picked them up without me.”

“I had to guess on your size, and I thought if it was wrong or you didn’t like what I picked out you could choose a different one.”

Cas hums and slips his hands back into Dean’s. “Thank you,” he murmurs after a moment.

Dean’s ears flush, and now he’s the one glancing away embarrassed. Still, he clears his throat and gives Cas’s hand a gentle squeeze as the saleswoman’s heels clack back up the hall.

She appears with a large smile and places two tiny boxes on the counter. Opening one, she turns it around and slides it over before moving on to the next one. “Both are fourteen carat, white gold, as promised.”

It’s stupid, but his hands are shaking a little as he goes for Cas’s ring first. “Never thought I’d be doing this,” Dean huffs jokingly. “Um, Cas, do you wanna…?”

“What, now?”

“No, tomorrow. Yes, now!” He grabs Cas’s hand and slides the ring into place, and he’s struck dumb for a second when the graceful little swooped and curled etchings glint under the light. Realistically, he knows jewelry stores are made to make the pieces stand out, just like showrooms in car dealerships, and maybe it’s the deep tan of Cas’s skin setting off the bright gold, but something about it is making him feel like he’s seeing the ring for the first time.

“Oh,” Cas breathes, snapping Dean out of whatever the hell kind of trance he was just under.

“So, does it fit, or…?”

Cas just swallows and nods, not taking his eyes off his hand. Again, in a voice so soft Dean can barely pick up on it, he thanks Dean. 

Cas is silent all the way home. He just turns the velvet box over in his hands and stares out the window. Dean assumes the ring is okay because Cas definitely would’ve called him out if it wasn’t, but he can’t help wondering if _they’re_ okay, too. He shouldn’t be nervous. Hell, it’s not like the rings actually mean anything. And, okay, maybe he spent a little more on them than he admitted to, but he figures they can either pawn them later or wear them on their other hands or something.

Later, when they’re settled on the couch with _Die Hard_ and some chicken lo mein, Cas finally relaxes, his socked feet coming up to rest beside Dean’s on the edge of the coffee table as he tries (and fails) to explain to Dean that no, despite the snow, this isn’t a Christmas movie.

“Of course, it is!” Dean stabs his noodles with his chopsticks and waves a hand at the screen. “They’re at a fucking Christmas party when everything goes down!”

“Just because it happens during Christmas does not mean it is a quintessential holiday movie.”

“Okay, well, what about the dude in the Santa hat? Can’t have that unless it’s a Christmas movie.”

Cas raises a brow and stares at Dean a moment before silently heading upstairs. A few minutes later, he reappears and drops a Santa hat on Dean’s head. “Now, is this a Christmas gathering?”

“If you wanna get technical—” He’s cut off by a fortune cookie bouncing off his face, and Dean only spares half a second to process the move before he’s tackling his friend. They go rolling onto the floor, and a simple wrestling match soon turns into a food fight when a rogue foot knocks the contents of a takeout carton onto Cas’s back. Their living room turns into a battlefield while the movie continues on in the background, John McClane all but forgotten.  
_____________

The next day, the Impala rolls up to a pair of wrought iron gates, and Dean stretches out the window to stab the entry code into the keypad. Nothing happens, so he frowns and tries again. The third time, he glances back at Castiel in question. “You’re sure it hasn’t changed?” he asks.

Castiel nods hesitantly, and he even has the text from his mother confirming as much, though he can’t help but wonder if this is a sign from God telling him to turn tail and run. “Perhaps we should go.”

Dean frowns and jabs the buzzer beside the intercom speaker, and soon—too soon for someone not to have been standing beside it, Castiel realizes—a tinny voice answers. “Novak residence.”

“Answer it,” Dean hisses.

“You’re closer!”

“Yeah, well, it’s your house!”

“This is _not_ my home.”

“You know what I mean. Come on, man, you know I hate talking on these things.”

“Then why’d you press the button?”

A voice clears on the other side of the intercom, and it brings both men back to the task at hand. “My apologies,” Castiel says, leaning over Dean to be heard through the open window. He shoots a glare at his friend and earns a finger to his ribs in response. Stifling the small oomph he lets out, Castiel continues. “We’re expected for dinner this evening, but it seems my code no longer works.”

“May I have your name?”

“Castiel Novak. I’m here with my husband.” Dean shoots him a thumbs up as the lie trips off his tongue, and Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Ah, yes. Of course. One moment, please.”

The gates swing open on well-oiled hinges, and Dean winks before easing onto the accelerator. The roll up the drive, aged oaks lining either side all the way up to the roundabout in front of the main house. Dean and Castiel spent a lot of time in the treetops as children, the wide limbs and interlocking branches perfect for climbing and swinging from one tree to another. Unlike the house which was always cold and filled with things he couldn’t touch, the grounds let Castiel run and play, and when he got older, they offered welcome solace from a family he couldn’t hope to understand.

When Dean brings the car to a stop, Castiel steps out and closes his eyes for a moment, silently steeling himself against the wave of bittersweet memories that wash over him. A hand slips into his, and he forces a sad little smile. “I’m okay,” he murmurs.

“You sure, man? We can get a room in town if you want?”

Castiel takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “No, I need to face them. Better now than at Gabriel’s wedding.”

Dean’s fingers slide under his jaw and wrap around the side of his neck, and he ducks down, studying Castiel’s features carefully. “Okay.”

A sudden chill runs up Castiel’s spine when Dean steps away, and he pulls his trenchcoat tighter around himself to ward off the winter air. Together, they climb the wide stretch of steps leading up to the porch, and Castiel rings the ornate doorbell set into the brick wall before shaking his head while Dean twists his hips in time to the chiming beat.

“Thirty years, Dean.”

“Hey, it’s still as catchy as it was when we were four.”

“Funny, you also haven’t changed much since then.”

“Just for that, I’ll be humming it in my sleep.” 

Dean grins at him then, his hair lit up by the porch light behind him forming a sort of halo around him, and Castiel can’t help but grin back. As much as Dean calls him an angel, Castiel has always thought Dean was the one who saved him. That first day of preschool so many years ago, when Castiel stood with his back to the wall petrified of the rambunctious children around him, it had been Dean to notice his discomfort and carefully offer him his favorite stuffed animal to hold onto. From then on, they’d been inseparable.

The door swings open, and what little comfort Castiel drew from his friend goes out the window. Naomi stares at him, the little creases at the corners of her eyes and mouth are deeper, grey streaks her hair, but her eyes are just as cold as he remembers, her disapproval pinning him in place.

“Hello, Castiel.”

He clears his throat, and nods. “Mother.”

Dean sticks his hand out. “Mrs. Novak, it’s good to see you again.”

Naomi blinks, her features placid, and Castiel grinds his teeth when she stretches the pause out long enough that Dean drops his proffered hand. “And you are?”

“Dean Winchester? I’ve known Cas since we were kids?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

With that, Naomi turns and moves further into the house, and they hurry to stuff their coats in the closet before following, shooting each other uncomfortable looks as she leads them into the formal dining room. A full spread is laid out across the long table, but that’s all Castiel can observe before he’s swept up in a crushing hug.

Castiel chuckles and squeezes his brother just as hard. “Hello, Gabriel. It’s good to see you, too.”

“You can’t stay away so long, bro! Let me look at you.” Gabriel smirks and reaches up to muss Castiel’s hair. “Still not as good looking as me, but you do alright. So!” He claps his hands together, rubbing them excitedly. “Where’s this husband of yours?”

“Right beside me.”

Gabriel’s eyes widen a fraction, but then his face lights up. “Dean-o? Really? Oh, this just keeps getting better! Kali!” He turns to where his fiancée is still seated on the far side of the table, her lips quirking at his antics. “This is Dean, Cassie’s best friend growing up and now _husband_! Isn’t that cool? He went and married his high school sweetheart!”

“Actually, we weren’t together back then.”

Dean puts a hand on the small of Castiel’s back and adds, “Took us a little longer than most to realize what we had was more than regular friendship.”

Gabriel pulls them both to the table before taking his seat and stretching his arm over the back of Kali’s chair. “You’ve gotta tell me all about it. How did you go from roommates to this?”

“Later,” Chuck announces from the head of the table. “I wouldn’t mind hearing that story myself, but first we should say the blessing before our meal gets cold.” His expression and tone are kinder than his wife’s, but Castiel knows all too well how his temper can flare up at a moment’s notice.

Castiel swallows nervously and dutifully bows his head while Dean takes his hand on top of the table, his simple band glinting in the light for all to see. The move is obviously deliberate, a challenge for someone to say something, and Castiel holds his breath, waiting for one of his parents to do just that, but Chuck only frowns and closes his eyes.

When he’s finished speaking, Chuck grabs one of the many dishes laid out before them and begins scooping out a portion of vegetables. “So, Dean, what do you do for a living?”

“I own my own garage.” Dean beams, the pride in his work written all over his face. “Mostly it’s regular maintenance, but I’ve restored a lot of classics over the years, and that’s what I really enjoy.”

“You do the work yourself?” Naomi asks.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve got a few employees, but I get out of the office as much as I can to help out. If I could, I’d hire someone to handle all the paperwork for me, but someone’s gotta be the boss, right?”

Naomi hums politely and pointedly turns her attention to Kali, smiling warmly at her future daughter-in-law. “Have you heard from the florist?”

“They’ll be here early Saturday to set up,” the woman replies slowly. She frowns slightly and casts a furtive glance over at Gabriel, but he just rolls his eyes. That must mean something to her though, because the confusion melts from her face, and her features settle into an unimpressed mask of disdain.

“Oh, good,” Naomi says brightly. She chuckles, and the sound of it is so _off_ from her usual self that Castiel fumbles the platter of roast and would have dropped it had it not been for Dean’s quick hands. Dean just winks and goes about putting some on both their plates before handing the dish off to Gabriel. 

“I still don’t know how you managed to convince them to make an entire arch out of daffodils,” Chuck laughs.

“They weren’t too happy about that,” Naomi admits, “but Kali charmed them into it anyway, and it’s no wonder. Everyone just loves her.”

Kali arches a brow and turns to Dean with a barely there smile. “Don’t believe a word she says. Naomi’s always been a bit of a bitch to me.”

Naomi’s smile falters slightly, and Kali beams behind her wine glass. “I admit, we got off to a rocky start, but—,” she covers Kali’s hand with her own, and both Kali and Gabriel stare at the woman like she’s grown a second head, “—I’ve always wanted a daughter like you.”

“Mom,” Gabriel asks slowly, dragging the word out, “are you…dying?”

Dean snorts, choking on his drink and nearly spraying what he managed to get into his mouth all over the tablecloth. Castiel bites his lip and rubs Dean’s back until he’s regained his composure, and they grin at each other while Chuck snaps at Gabriel to be quiet and finish his meal.

“I’m just saying—”

“No!” Chuck’s pointing at Gabriel now, his face contorted in anger, and the room goes silent. Castiel fists his hands on his thighs and stares at his father, bracing himself for whatever comes next. With Chuck, it could go either way.

Kali is the quickest to recover, leaning over her plate until she’s effectively blocking Gabriel from view. When she speaks, her voice is laced with venom. “Is there a problem, _Charles?_ ”

Dean’s hand lands on Castiel’s knee right about the same time Chuck sits back, fake smile plastered across his face. Naomi clears her throat and refills her glass of wine. “I can’t wait for you to see the dress Michael bought for Rachel. She’ll be the most beautiful little flower girl this town has ever seen.”

It’s a clear dismissal, and Castiel spears a piece of roast with a bit more force than is strictly necessary as conversation continues to be about the upcoming wedding. It’s not that he isn’t interested in the topic—the opposite, actually, as he’s thrilled Gabriel finally found someone who can match him shot for shot and keep his ego from overinflating. The issue is that between his mother actively engaging Kali and pretending that they’re best friends when everything he’s heard from Gabriel couldn’t be further from the truth and his father’s outburst, Castiel’s on edge.

But Kali doesn’t back down from anyone, so whenever Chuck tries to engage her in conversation, Kali pushes back with a thinly veiled insult that has him snapping his mouth shut. Her strong personality has led to more than a few arguments between Gabriel and his parents since the engagement, but to see Naomi now, you’d think Kali was her own blood, and Castiel knows, _he knows_ , that she’s doing it to piss him off. 

All through the rest of dinner, Castiel hums and nods in the appropriate places, but he isn’t fully present and just picks at his food. At least Dean tries to be sociable, engaging Gabriel about the latest recipes his bakery is trying out and even passing Kali Sam’s contact information when he learns she’s also in law—even if he does get shut down by Castiel’s parents. Whenever someone tries to bring up Castiel and Dean’s relationship, like asking to see their rings or hinting at their story, Naomi or Chuck carefully steers the topic to something else. 

All in all, it’s a shitty start to what’s sure to be a rough couple of weeks.  
_____________

“I just don’t understand!” Castiel exclaims when it’s all over. He and Dean have moved Baby around to the back of the house, and he continues ranting as they retrieve their suitcases from the trunk and make their way from the expansive garden to the swimming area beyond. Solar lights dot the pathways at regular intervals, but otherwise the trip is made in almost total darkness. “My mother remembers you, of course she does! You were here as often as I was at your house growing up! She just doesn’t want to acknowledge you as a human being because she thinks you’re less than, and it’s bullshit!”

“Easy, angel,” Dean murmurs, placing a hand on Cas’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy, right?”

“I guess, but…”

“But you wanted it to be different?” Castiel swallows and focuses on unlocking the pool house. “I get it, man. You know how Dad would’ve reacted if I’d come out before he died. He’d have had the stroke way sooner. Doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes wish I could’ve told him without being worried instead of staying in the closet.”

Castiel nods, glad Dean understands where he’s coming from, and pushes open the door. Inside, they’re welcomed by big windows and chilly tile—not a bad combination for the summer, but with snow on the ground it keeps the temperature practically arctic. While Dean drops his duffle on the small breakfast table in the kitchen, Castiel hurries to the thermostat down the hall and turns the heat up to a decent level, breathing a sigh of relief when the heater kicks on and begins blowing in earnest.

“Gabriel seems happy,” Dean says, stripping his tie from around his neck in one fluid movement and setting to work on the button at his throat. His fingers fumble with the tiny thing, so Castiel steps up to pop it loose for him.

“He is. Kali is good for him.”

“Never thought he’d settle down. Dude was nuts when we were kids.”

“That’s because he was the first to taste real rebellion, and he’s never been one to do anything halfway.”

Dean’s eyes flick down to meet Castiel’s and he smirks. “Too bad you showed him up in that department, huh?”

Castiel snorts and shakes his head. “Ah, yes. Amazing how sexuality can so drastically rearrange the ‘Black Sheep’ rankings, isn’t it?”

“Fuckin’ rude is what it is.”

Both men chuckle, and Castiel leads Dean into the small bedroom at the back of the building. Castiel unzips his suitcase on the white bedspread and digs through for some bed clothes, frowning when he can’t seem to find his favorite flannel set, and when Dean comes out of the bathroom, Castiel is standing in the middle of the room, his hands running through his hair as he stares down at the various articles of clothing strewn around him.

“Whoa, what happened?”

“I—” Castiel swallows and refuses to meet Dean’s eyes as heat floods his cheeks. They’d already discussed sharing a bed—easier to convince the family they’re in love if someone comes snooping—but they didn’t discuss Castiel sleeping in his underwear, and, well, he’s not sure he can handle that. “I forgot pajamas,” he finally admits in a small voice.

To his surprise, Dean laughs. “Dude, I’ve seen you naked, okay? No need to cover up like a friggin’ nun. Here,” he tosses Castiel one of his tees, “throw this on and keep your boxers on. You’ll survive.”

Later, while they’re laying there in the dark, Castiel stares up at the ceiling, anxiety clawing at his insides. Thumbing the band around his finger, he wonders idly how different his life would be had he never felt the need to come out to his parents. Maybe they would’ve continued to support him, or maybe they’d have found some other reason for hating him. He can’t decide.

Beside him, Dean rolls over and burrows deeper into his pillow, his brow furrowing. “Go to sleep, angel,” he murmurs. “You’re thinking too loud.”

Castiel can’t help the little smile that tugs at the corner of his lips, and he once again sends up a thanks to the heavens for Dean Winchester. When his silence continues, Dean begins humming the doorbell chime, and Castiel shoves him playfully. “Asshole,” he mutters, grinning at his friend.

Dean yawns and smiles sleepily. “Night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wakes to the mattress shifting as Cas rolls out of bed. Despite turning the heat on the night before, it’s still chilly, and he pulls the thick comforter up over his ears. God, he never wants to leave the bed, not at negative ten degrees or however fucking cold it is outside. He drifts off right as the bathroom door shuts, but it isn’t long before he’s again woken by the sound of Cas moving around the room. 

Glaring over the edge of the covers, he catches sight of his friend digging through his clothing, a thin towel slung around his hips. Cas’s wet hair is just as messy as usual, his cheeks pink from the heat of the shower, and his muscles ripple as he gathers his things. Dean blinks slowly, his sleep addled mind not quite running on all cylinders just yet, and watches as Cas places his clothes onto the nearby dresser.

Then Cas drops the towel, and hoo boy, Dean is suddenly painfully aware of the morning wood he’s got going on. Friends or not, Dean knows Cas is hot, and he doesn’t usually have issues acknowledging that fact, but seeing the dude full-frontal while Dean sports a hard on is a bit much, so he rolls onto his belly to hide the evidence in case Cas gets the wrong idea. But then, if anything, the mattress pressing on his junk only adds to the problem. Dean tries to get comfortable while also willing his erection to go down, but whenever he moves, his dick catches a little more friction, and it’s like it _knows_ there’s a naked body in the room because it won’t go the fuck away.

Cas pads out of the room, and Dean gives in to the urge to grind against the sheet. It’s not enough though, so he gets up and quickly readies the shower, praying there’s still enough hot water for what he has in mind and that he can get it done without Cas hearing him. Luckily, the answer to both of those questions is a yes.

As he makes his way down the short hallway, Dean’s greeted by the smell of coffee wafting in from the kitchen, and he makes a beeline for the cup already sitting by the pot. After taking a sip of the perfectly warmed liquid gold, Dean raises the cup in greeting. “Thanks, angel. Ooh, toss me one of those, would you?”

Cas reaches into the basket on the table—Dean’s ninety-eight percent sure it wasn’t there last night, which means someone had to have brought it over early this morning—and lobs one of the muffins to him before going back to plucking at the paper surrounding the base of his own.

“Bartholomew brought them over while you were showering,” Cas murmurs. His attention stays focused on his food, going so far as to smooth the wrapper flat on the table. Propping his jaw in his hand, he seems to slump even further. “He was…polite.”

Dean hums, taking a seat across from his friend. Bartholomew had been the Novaks’ butler since before Cas’s oldest brother, Michael, had been born, and he’d doted on all the boys but especially the youngest. But that’d been before. “What’d he say?” Dean asks quietly.

“Very little, just that he stocked the kitchen for us. He thought we might want to take our breakfasts and lunches here.”

“Sounds like that was more of an order than a thoughtful gesture.”

“Not very subtle, is he?”

Dean purses his lips but shakes his head. “Sorry, Cas. I know he means a lot to you.”

“It’s to be expected,” Cas says with a shrug. “His ideals mirror my parents’. It’s why they hired him in the first place. Can’t have some crazy person caring for impressionable children.” He pinches a piece of muffin between his thumb and forefinger, squinting at the food like it personally offended him before dropping it with a sigh.

“Hey.” When Cas doesn’t say anything, Dean wads up his napkin and hits his friend in the face with it. Cas glares, and Dean points at the food in front of him. “Eat. Drink. Then we’re going out.”

Cas squints again before folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. “I need to check in with Patrick and make sure there aren’t any last minute details to be taken care of before tonight.”

“So, call him,” Dean says, “but then you and I are gonna get out of here for a while, got it?”

The corners of Cas’s mouth curl ever so slightly as he begins tapping away on his phone. The plan is to set up shop in a backroom poker game for Gabriel’s bachelor party, and Patrick, one of Gabe’s longtime friends, says he can get them in no problem. Dean’s never particularly cared for the guy—too slick for his tastes—but if this comes together, they’ll have the perfect place to bomb Gabriel with the stripper-gram they have planned, and then things will really get rolling.

Once Cas gets confirmation that they’re good to go, he makes quick work of his muffin and washes it down with the remnants of his coffee. Then Dean tugs a black beanie onto his head and instructs Cas to do the same before they head out.

The Novaks’ property spans roughly eighty acres of mixed wood and farmland, and the back of the property is bisected by a wide creek. It’s there that Dean leads Cas, following the well-maintained trails until they get to a the long-forgotten path they frequented in their youth. From there, it’s another few hundred yards to the creek, and as they catch sight of the water, their pace increases. 

“Figured you could use a break from all the crazy,” Dean says.

“We’ve only been here sixteen hours.”

“My point stands.”

Cas breathes a low laugh as their old clubhouse comes into view. Well, “clubhouse” is probably a generous term, but the wooden pallets and plywood they halfway nailed together was their own way of carving out a place in the world long before they could even drive. “They are…a lot.”

“You think?” Dean pulls a felled tree limb off the roof and shakes his head. “Man, I can’t believe this place is still here.” 

Cas nods and runs his hands over the weathered frame. “I guess they never found it. If they had, Bartholomew would have disposed of it years ago.”

“Can’t imagine Naomi rides her horses much out this way.”

“Definitely not.”

Dean side-eyes Cas, watching the way his friend’s shoulders are still slumped. “Wanna check out the inside?” he asks, cocking his head and thumbing towards the door.

Cas’s eyes widen before a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes curves his lips. “After you.”

Dean ducks down, huffing slightly when he has to stoop lower than he expected to walk inside, and blinks as his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. His ears strain for movement, and he eyes the dark corners of the clubhouse warily in case something decided to make a home out of their little shack—the last thing he needs is to get attacked by a rabid opossum or skunk or something equally disgusting and feral—but all he sees are years’ worth of piled leaves and other debris gracing the dirt floor. Then, Cas is there behind him, so Dean shifts further toward the little window overlooking the creek.

“My books survived,” Cas breathes after rustling through the piles of junk at the back.

Dean peaks over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched in surprise. “You’re kidding.” But Cas is just nodding rapidly, his face stretched into the first genuine grin Dean’s seen on him since they left home. “Seriously?”

“Maybe I should write Rubbermaid a thank you note?” Cas asks, popping the lid on the container.

“Dude, yes. Just think of all the free stuff they might send you!”

Cas chuckles low and begins thumbing through a copy of _Paradise Lost_ , his mind surely a thousand miles away, so Dean turns back to the window and breathes deep, happy that he could offer his friend a small distraction from the basket of lemons at his feet.  
_____________

“Nah, man, you can’t be serious.”

Patrick cuts the cards, the toothpick between his teeth dangerously close to falling out. “Oh, I am, boy-o. You shoulda seen the look on that poor lad’s face when his lady friend came charging in. He never stood a chance.”

Dean laughs, somehow at ease around this guy despite all signs pointing him to being a conman. “What’d you do?”

“Me?” Patrick pauses a moment before continuing to deal the current hand. “Not a thing. She wasn’t mad at me anyhow. Her old man’s the one who’d been stepping out on her, and I had no idea he was married.”

“None at all?” Michael asks. He tips his cards up and tosses a few chips into the middle of the table. “I bid eighty.”

“Oh, no. I may have a hand in many things, but a homewrecker I’m not.”

Lucifer frowns but adds his own chips. “Call.”

“Fold,” Balthazar sighs. He takes a long sip of his white wine and folds his hands across his middle. “I’ve been there a few times, though usually it’s the husband chasing me away at gunpoint…or swordpoint. What’s that called again?”

“I believe it’s referred to as ‘at sword’s point,’” Cas says. He pushes an entire stack of chips forward, and the table groans. “What?”

“They’re mad, Cassie,” Gabe grins. He leans forward and stage whispers his next comment. “Don’t tell them we’re working together!”

“Hey!”

“Really?!”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Patrick wags a finger at the younger Novaks while Dean places his bet. “No colluding during my game, or I’ll throw ya both out!”

Gabe just winks and throws a few extra chips onto the growing pile. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says innocently.

“Nah, it’s not Gabe you have to worry about,” Dean says, stretching out and putting his arm over the back of Cas’s chair. “This dude’s a genius, and he works better alone.”

Lucifer grins, something almost feral in his gaze that makes Dean’s stomach turn. “Does he now?”

“He’s kicking your ass, isn’t he?”

“And everyone else’s,” Michael grumbles. He tosses his cards to the table and runs a hand through his jet black hair.

Cas’s lips curl, and he raises the stakes yet again. “Too rich for me,” Dean announces. “I’m gonna get food. Anyone want anything?”

They wave him off for the most part, though Michael does excuse himself to the bathroom while Gabriel, Lucifer and Cas battle it out. Dean lets his fingers linger on Cas’s shoulder aa little longer than necessary, and Cas gives his hand a little squeeze as he pulls away. Gabe awws at the display, so Dean flips him off over his shoulder on the way out. The guy’s normally a dick, but he’s been nothing but nice to Dean since Cas showed up pretending to be married to him, so Dean has to give him a little credit there. Sad, though, that the bar is so low in the family. Cas deserves better.

Making his way into the front room, Dean is greeted by the thick haze of smoke and eardrum blasting music, and he maneuvers easily to the bar, signaling to get the bartender’s attention. After ordering a basket of wings and a couple more beers, he decides to hit the head while he waits. 

As his usually shitty luck would have it, Michael is just finishing up when Dean enters. Michael begins washing his hands as Dean unzips, but he can feel eyes on the back of his head, so it takes a little longer than usual to start going. Sure enough, after he flushes the urinal, Dean turns around to find Michael casually propped against the sink, his arms folded over his chest.

“You and my brother, hmm?”

Dean nods, pasting on a fake grin. “What can I say? He’s pretty amazing.”

“And Castiel, he’s happy?”

“I think so, yeah.” He pauses in washing his hands just long enough to make it seem as though he’s mulling the question over before saying, “Yeah. Honestly, I’d never seen him really glow until we got together, you know?”

Michael hums and steps forward, and Dean resists the urge to shift away even as the older man locks eyes with him. “My brother is a lucky man.”

_What the fuck? Was that—What the FUCK?_

“Uh, thanks?” Dean murmurs. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Michael is hitting on him, but the guy’s a hardcore conservative, married with kids, and ran for senate in some state over on the east coast a few years back but lost the seat to a democrat, so that can’t be the case, right?

But Michael’s gaze ficks down to Dean’s mouth, and he stares hungrily at it for a long moment before dragging his eyes back up and quirking his lips. “Like I said,” he says, his voice dropping a few octaves, “he’s very lucky.”

Okay, that’s it.

Dean steps back, his hands held up between them. “Look, pal, I don’t know what your deal is, but—” he holds up his left hand and points at the ring there for good measure, “—I’m married, alright? That means I’m off the market. And another thing, how could you step out on your wife, huh? I thought only douchebags did that.”

“And I thought only whores had lips like yours,” Michael growls. “I bet that’s how you really caught my brother, isn’t it? Tell me, Dean, would you like to see what a real cock feels like in your ass?”

He brings his hand up as if to pull Dean closer, but Dean’s faster, batting the hand away while grabbing a fistful of shirt and slamming Michael into the paper towel dispenser. Michael hisses, but Dean’s got him pinned, so he doesn’t have a way out.

“If you ever come near me again, I’ll bring the whole thing down,” Dean says. “Can’t imagine your wife would be too happy to find out her husband’s a cheating pile of shit. And your parents, man, they’d be pissed. Probably write you out of their will like they did Cas if they find out you’re into guys.” Michael opens his mouth, but Dean just scowls and shoves away. “Fucking piece of shit.”

He’s still shaking off the confrontation later when he makes it back to the table, wings and drinks in hand. Michael is already back and doesn’t so much as glance up when Dean takes his seat, but Cas gladly takes the proffered beer and snags a few wings, too. Dean just chuckles at his friend and slides a few napkins his way. Unfortunately, his mood doesn’t lift much, and Cas has shot him more than a few worried looks by the time there’s a knock at the door. 

Everyone shifts slightly, but Patrick just keeps dealing, nodding to Gabe. “Do ya mind? It may be important.”

As soon as Gabe opens the door, he’s assaulted with a neon colored boa, and the men all cheer as the women at the door use it to pull Gabe over to a chair. He’s groaning but smiling, shaking his head and trying to play off his blush as a result of the alcohol in his system, but Patrick won’t hear of it.

“To my best friend,” Patrick announces, raising his brandy. The other men follow suit as one of the women loses her top. “And also to you, missy. I haven’t seen a pair of tits that firm in a long time. May they serve you well.”

The woman tosses her bra onto the forgotten game and shakes her chest for emphasis. “Oh, they sure do, sugar. They’re worth every penny.”

“Now that I believe,” Lucifer says.

The night wraps up fairly quick after that. The men all settle their bets and finish another round of drinks and teasing Gabe before stumbling out to the waiting limo they’d hired for the night. Dean’s not totally sold on letting someone drive him around, but he had to agree that it was the safest way to get them all back to the Novaks’ in one piece.

Michael is still reserved during the ride back, and Dean sits curled against Cas’s side, but the others hang out the windows whooping and hollering all through town and singing at the top of their lungs when they hit the highway, but by the time the limo gets buzzed through the gates, they’ve mostly settled down into half normal conversation, and as they enter the huge house, Cas hangs back a bit, pulling Dean’s hand to get him to slow down as well. 

“Everything okay?” Cas asks. His eyebrows are furrowed in that way they get when he’s concerned over something, and Dean just doesn’t have the heart to tell him his brother tried to hit on his fake-husband.

“I’m good, man.”

“Are you sure? You seemed…off when you returned with the wings. Did something happen?”

Damn him for being so perceptive. Dean flashes a grin and shakes his head. “What? No. I’m fine. Come on. You’ve got to make sure Gabe makes it to bed okay, remember? Do you really want to be on Kali’s bad side tomorrow?”

“Of course not, but—”

“But nothing. Let’s get him settled, then we can get some shut eye.”

The rest of the men have convened in the den where Chuck and Cas’s uncle, Zachariah, are smoking cigars. Right away, Chuck waves them in and turns to Zachariah. “This is Dean, the one I was telling you about.”

“Ah, yes, the homosexual. Have a seat, boys.”

Dean flashes the balding man his most innocent grin and says, “Actually, I’m bi. Equal opportunity and all that.”

“You like it up the ass, kid, that’s enough information for me.”

Dean bristles at the comment but lets Cas pull him over to the leather loveseat without complaint. As they sink onto the cushions, Zachariah continues talking about some business venture he’s recently become involved in, and Lucifer chimes in with his own story of how he bought a small company and basically milked it dry before moving the whole thing abroad.

“But what about the employees?” Dean asks. All eyes turn to him, and he straightens. “You said most of them had been there since the beginning, right?”

“They’re just people,” Lucifer says breezily, as if that explains anything.

“Real people,” Dean argues, balling his hands into fists, “with families and homes. How can you take away their livelihood like that? I’d never do that to my team.”

“Your team?” Zachariah asks.

“Oh, uh, Dean is a mechanic,” Chuck supplies before tossing back the rest of his drink.

This gets Zachariah’s attention, and he turns to fully face Dean, his eyes raking over him with a new appreciation. “How many people do you employ? Twenty? More?”

“Eight.”

“Eight,” Zachariah echoes. He smiles and leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Eight is a lot different than eighty or eight hundred, son. You have more…we’ll call it wiggle room to make sure your ‘team,’ as you said, stays fed, but those numbers aren’t so easy to balance when you’re in the big leagues like us. When you turn your shop into a chain, then maybe I’ll take what you say more seriously, but for now, how about you sit tight and let the adults talk?”

“Have you ever actually worked for a small business?” Patrick asks suddenly.

“No.” Zachariah narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“I only ask because you don’t seem like the type to get his hands dirty. Oh, sure, you can discuss contracts and the bottom line all day, but do you know how to scrub a toilet or pack a box? Have you ever spent the day on your feet, slinging drinks and serving food or stocking shelves and mopping floors before coming home and feeling the burn in your muscles from a hard day’s work? Do you know the true value of the dollars you make?” Patrick points to Dean with his toothpick and raises his brows. “I bet he does, so tell me, who’s the real adult here?”

Thick silence descends on the room then, and Dean grips Cas’s hand tighter, glad when his friend squeezes just as hard. It’s funny how such a little gesture can seem so reassuring, but right now, while Patrick and Zachariah stare each other down and Lucifer whispers in Michael’s ear, Dean needs the support. He swallows and glances at Chuck, but Chuck is already watching him, and that icy gaze shouldn’t be so unnerving, but it is. It’s like the man is waiting for Dean to trip up.

After what feels like an eternity, Cas clears his throat and stands. “Gabriel, Kali asked me to make sure you made it to bed at a reasonable hour, and I’m afraid we’ve passed midnight already.”

“Not staying for cigars?” Zachariah asks.

Lucifer smirks and swirls his freshly poured drink, the ice clinking against the glass. “They can’t handle seeing so many men’s lips wrapped around cigars. The temptation to kneel would be too strong.”

“I’m sure they have other plans anyway,” Michael agrees. “Don’t go too hard on him, Castiel. Wouldn’t want him so sore he can’t walk right tomorrow.”

Lucifer and the older men laugh at the comment, but Patrick and Balthazar just watch quietly as Cas bows up, his jaw clenched. Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Gabe steps into the center of the room before he can get a word out.

“Personally,” he says grinning, “I applaud Cassie and Dean both for being comfortable enough in themselves to openly admit their sexual preferences. Even in today’s society, it’s not always easy to announce to the world that you’re different, isn’t that right, Michael? Being in politics, I’m sure you’ve seen several men too afraid to come out of the closet, so they go around cheating on their wives with other men.” 

Okay, so clearly Gabe knows _something_ about his brother’s situation, which, Dean isn’t surprised because if anyone did, it’d be Gabriel. The guy’s got a wealth of tricks up his sleeve.

Michael’s smile slips from his face, and he scowls as his younger brother stretches. Clapping his hands together loudly, Gabe bows to Balthazar and Patrick and sends a mock salute to the rest of the room. “That’s it for me, boys. Thank you all for a wonderful send off, but I, for one, won’t mourn my bachelorhood. I’m going into marriage with a smile on my face and joy in my heart.”

With that, he turns to the couple still standing in the doorway and gestures for them to get a move on. “Well?” he asks. “Big day tomorrow. I don’t have all night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Constructive criticism? Let me know! I'm really enjoying writing this story, and every hit, kudos, and comment is fuel for this writer's soul.


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday dawns way too early for Castiel’s liking, especially after the run in with his uncle the night before, but as he stares over at Dean, fast asleep and practically drooling on the soft feather pillow, he’s grateful he didn’t have to endure that alone. Dean has taken every familial interaction in stride with a grace Castiel can’t help but aspire to someday possess.

Despite his own occasional bouts of self-loathing, Dean’s never been one to let others look down on him. If asked, Dean’d probably spout an answer about not liking bullies, the same line he’s used since fifth grade when he stopped Gordon Walker and three of his wanna-be goonies from jumping Mark Reynolds after school—it earned him a split lip and bloody nose by the time Castiel returned from getting Mark and Sam to safety—but Castiel knows it’s because Dean loathes prejudice against or from anyone. His dad was a Grade A dick about certain things (read, anyone in or associated with the LGBTQIA community), and Castiel suspects that’s why Dean tried so hard to earn his father’s approval before his death, but that’s a whole other issue. 

Castiel goes through his morning routine quickly, devouring a muffin in record time and washing it down with his coffee before placing a steaming mug on the table at Dean’s head and jumping in the shower. Like yesterday, when he exits the bathroom, Dean is awake, but this time he’s leaning against the headboard, sipping the coffee Castiel provided casually, his eyes only half open and hair flattened to one side.

“Sleep well?” Castiel asks, barely suppressing the urge to smile at Dean’s appearance.

Dean holds up a finger while draining his cup, and then, after putting the empty vessel back on the bedside table, he leans his head back and sighs. “Do we really have to wear the monkey suits?”

“You don’t,” Castiel says, unzipping his garment bag. “As I’m the one in the actual wedding party, I’ll be in a tux, but I packed your blue suit with the green tie for today.”

“You tellin’ me what to wear now, angel?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyes.

“I…” Castiel blinks at him and then at the suit in his hands. Is Dean mad at him for choosing what he should wear to the wedding? He only meant to help out and knew Dean preferred his blue suit for special occasions, and the tie matches his eyes, but did he cross a line? They’ve helped each other pack before, but this whole trip is different thanks to the fake marriage thing, so maybe he should have asked beforehand, but what had Dean planned to wear to the wedding, the same suit he attended dinner in the other night?

Dean chuckles and shakes his head, tossing the covers back and crossing the space between them in two quick strides. He takes the suit and looks it over briefly before squeezing Castiel’s bicep with a wink and a smile, and then he’s hooking the hanger on the doorframe and stripping his shirt and boxer briefs off and humming to himself while starting the shower, his hand outstretched under the spray while his ass is bared to the room, and for the life of him, Castiel has no idea what just happened.  
¬¬¬_____________

The ceremony is done beautifully, everyone bundled up in the snow-covered courtyard and daffodils gracing every available surface. The bridesmaids, a few of Kali’s friends as well as her younger sister, are all in a rich, royal blue, and someone wove more daffodils into their hair. Naomi was right about one thing, Michael’s little girl is a vision as she makes her way up the aisle while scattering petals all around her, and she beams as the crowd coos over her. Even Gabriel is momentarily distracted by his niece, and he gathers her in a quick hug when she reaches the altar.

The French doors at the back of the house closed after Rachel came out, but now they open simultaneously, and Castiel places a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder to get his attention, and there, when Gabriel sees his wife-to-be on her father’s arm, he lets out a choked little sound, and then his face absolutely _glows_. Kali, too, seems smitten by the man standing before her, her mouth dropping open and eyes widening in surprise, but where Gabriel is all rapturous awe, she’s quicker to compose herself and gently takes his hands when she reaches him. 

“You’re beautiful,” Gabriel breathes as Joshua, the Novaks’ longtime priest, begins the service. From where he’s standing, Castiel can just make out the blush that rises under Kali’s dark cheeks as she glances down, and she murmurs something low that makes Gabriel chuckle before planting a soft kiss to her hands.

As Joshua’s sermon continues, Castiel finds his mind wandering, and his eyes scan the faces in the crowd until he finds Dean, but Dean’s already watching him and mouths a “hey.” Castiel returns the gesture, and Dean grins, his eyes sparkling in the midday sun, and Castiel is so caught up in their short conversation that he almost misses his cue to hand Gabriel the ring. 

When the couple finally kisses, loud, raucous cheers rise up from the wedding party, and the crowd joins in kind until Kali is shaking her head good naturedly and Gabriel is planting a wet, smacking kiss to her cheek. He holds a fist over his head and lets loose a yell before tugging his bride back to the house where everyone will gather for the reception. The couple had asked for a few minutes alone before being bombarded with attention, and Castiel can’t fault them for it. If he ever decided to get married, he’d also want that bit of privacy with his husband—spouse—before sharing their new marriage with everyone else.

The crowd disperses quickly, a few people lingering in the rows of folding chairs but most heading out of the cold as soon as possible, so it only takes a few moments for Castiel to make his way over to Dean. They join hands as soon as they’re within reach, and Dean pulls Castiel toward him, twisting their arms together at his side.

“Well,” Dean says, “Gabriel actually went and did it. I’m telling you, Cas, I had my doubts.”

“Did you see the way they looked at each other? It’s obvious to anyone with eyes they’re head over heels.”

“Absolutely,” Dean agrees. “I just didn’t think he’d be all gung ho for marriage.”

Castiel smiles up at his friend. “Sometimes all it takes is finding the right person.”

“I assume people said the same thing about you boys,” and older woman interjects in passing. Dean gapes at her even as his ears and cheeks flush, but she just winks and moves on.

“Jesus,” he breathes, chuckling nervously and rubbing at his neck with his free hand. “Old women, huh?”

Castiel’s stomach is too tied into knots at the moment to speak, so he just swallows thickly and nods.

“Where’d she even come from?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel murmurs. He frowns as he considers it and then laughs. “Actually, I have no idea who she or half these people even are.”

“Fuckin’ weddings, man.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Dean instantly brightens and tugs Castiel toward the house. Once inside, he follows the signs—which in Castiel’s opinion are ridiculous but admittedly useful to strangers in a house this large—to the bar in the kitchen and pours them both a finger of whiskey. “Now,” he says, pushing the glass into Castiel’s hand and clinking it softly against his own, “you can drink to that.”

Castiel squints at him and tilts his head. “You are a very strange man, Dean Winchester.”

“Ah, but you love me. We’re married, remember?”

“Marriage doesn’t always equal love.”

Dean just shrugs and downs his whiskey before encouraging Castiel to do the same, and Castiel winces at the burn until Dean leans in and whispers, “Today it does.”

Castiel blinks at him, a bit dazed and more than a little confused at his meaning before he gets it. Of course, Dean is referring to Gabriel and Kali’s wedding, not their own fake marriage. For some reason, he’s left feeling…disappointed?  
_____________

Dean fucking _loathes_ weddings.

It’s not the actual ceremony he has a problem with. That part he’s good with, thrilled even. The whole tying yourself to another human forever (or until the lust fades) never bothered him one iota, but brushing elbows with a bunch of strangers at the reception? Now that he could do without.

He and Cas made it through the dinner relatively unharmed, though they did somehow end up seated on the far side of the ballroom from the rest of the family, and when Cas got up to make his awkward speech, Dean gave him a thumbs up despite most of the jokes falling flat. The socialites at their table weren’t up for much small talk with the gays, he supposes, but at least he tried to turn the Winchester Charm on ‘em, and he thinks it might have worked until Michael sauntered up and began shaking hands like the politician he is.

Now though, after the tables have been cleared away by a bustling team of black tie waiters, the music is starting, and even though the violins are a little fancy for Dean’s taste, he’s swaying in a circle with his best friend, and that’s not so bad.

“You’re counting, aren’t you?”

Cas’s frown deepens, and he glances first at their feet and then away as a blush creeps up his neck. “…No.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “Dude, relax and let me lead, okay? You’re trying too hard. Look.” He turns Cas once, deftly catching his waist and falling back into the slow circles they’re making. “See?”

“I…no.” Cas continues frowning at their feet, but he says, “How are you so adept at dancing? You’ve never taken classes.”

“Uh, no.” Dean flushes and now he’s the one glancing away. “Mom taught me in the kitchen growing up. It was just something we did, you know? She’d stick a pie in the oven, cut on some tunes, and then we’d spin around the kitchen ‘til it got done. Did it all the way up through high school.” 

Cas smiles at him, his eyes going soft and crinkling at the edges, and the longer he stares, the more Dean itches under his collar. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” Cas bites his lip before continuing, his blue eyes wide. “I love that you got to have that with her.”

“She’d probably fall all over herself if I asked her to dance while we’re down here.”

“I’m sure it would make any gift you give her obsolete. If those memories mean that much to you, imagine what they mean to her.”

Dean hums quietly thinking seriously about doing just that while they’re in town. They’re due to visit her tomorrow for Sunday dinner and then again for Christmas, and he’ll probably see her somewhere in between those times anyway seeing as how they’ve planned to stay until the new year. Yeah. He’s going to make a point to twirl his mom around the kitchen a few times.

Smiling, Dean pulls Cas closer so that their chests are pressed against each other while they sway back and forth. “Thanks, angel.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies softly. He doesn’t look away, and neither does Dean, but it isn’t uncomfortable like it would be with most people. This is Cas. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then Dean has nothing to worry about because his friend already knows everything about him. They’ve never had secrets, not even the thing with Rhonda Hurley freshman year. It’s easy to bare himself to Cas. Safe. 

The people around them clap as the band announces they’re taking a short break, but Dean can’t quite bring himself to let go of the guy, not yet. It’s weird, this warmth that’s settled in his chest, curling beneath his sternum and giving his lungs a gentle squeeze, and maybe it’s the alcohol finally settling in, but Dean’s whole body is buzzing, and he swears he can feel Cas’s grip on his shoulder tighten slightly. Dean’s mouth falls open as he lets out a breath, and his tongue automatically darts out to wet his lips. Cas tracks the movement before his eyes widen and his cheeks pinken, and then he’s pulling away and mumbling something about the bathroom, and Dean’s standing there watching his best friend weave between bodies and wondering how he didn’t realize they were leaning into each other’s space.

 _What the fuck just happened?_  
_____________

Castiel bypasses the line of guests outside the half bath past the kitchen and books it up to the one he shared with his brothers on the second floor. He’s panting by the time he locks the door behind him, and his hands shake as he lowers himself onto the toilet.

“What the fuck just happened?” he whispers, threading his fingers through his hair.

Closing his eyes and pulling a deep breath through his nose, Castiel replays the memory, desperate to find any reason why it felt like he and Dean were about to—to—

“No,” he growls, pushing to his feet. Castiel loosens his tie and easily pops the top button of his shirt while pacing the small room. Coming to stare at his reflection, Castiel braces himself on the vanity and speaks slowly. “Nothing happened. It was just a dance. He was _not_ about to kiss you.”

_Then why did it feel like he was?_

Castiel’s been around. He enjoys sex and how it allows him to express his deep, deep appreciation for the art that is the human body. Every person is different, has varying pleasure points and turn ons, and Castiel draws immense pleasure from unraveling the puzzle with his mouth and hands, so much so that more than once he’s come untouched simply from successfully pushing his partner over the brink. As such, he’s good at reading others, and the way Dean was leaning in back there on the dance floor, Castiel could swear he was going to close his eyes and brush his lips gently against Castiel’s own. Maybe they’d catch on his lower lip and Dean would bite it gently before soothing the mark with his tongue while the long line of his body pressed—

No! Castiel’s eyes fly open, and he wills whatever seems to be going on in his pants away. No, no, no, no, no. He won’t go there. He _can’t_. Dean is his best friend, practically family at this point, and Castiel will not endanger that by letting his brain run wild with some stupid fantasy. Admittedly, it’s been a while since he last picked up a partner, and he’s beyond stressed out due to his family, but that’s no excuse. 

Castiel uses the time it takes to fix his shirt and tie to steel himself against whatever fallout he’ll face when he sees Dean again. He didn’t leave with much of an explanation, and the guy is probably blaming himself for it. Time for some damage control.

As he makes his way down the hall, a muted thud to his right catches Castiel’s attention. He stops and strains his ears over the din of the party downstairs, and there, right when he’s about to disregard it as nothing, Castiel hears it again. Curiosity firmly piqued, Castiel quietly eases to the closed door at the end of the hall. The big corner bedroom used to be Michael’s—a perk of being the oldest Novak boy—and even though there are several people staying overnight in the main house, Castiel thought they were all downstairs. No one should be up here now, but then he is, so he supposes someone else may be as well. Still, even if Anna had to come up here to tend to one of the girls, why would it be making so much noise?

Just when Castiel is about to turn the knob, he’s answered by Michael’s breathy voice begging someone not to stop, and Castiel jumps back like he’s been shocked. So, that’s what they’re doing. He huffs a small laugh and mentally congratulates Michael. Castiel hasn’t seen his brother and sister-in-law show much affection for each other since they arrived, but all couples are different, and he assumes some are into the thrill of potentially being caught in the act. 

Except, after he descends the staircase and gets swept up in the party crowd once more, Castiel runs headfirst into Michael’s wife. Steadying her with a hand on each shoulder, Castiel tries to make sense of what her being here while her husband is upstairs with someone else means, but all he can manage to say—or more accurately, croak—is, “Anna?”

The redhead grins, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Hey, Cas. I was just looking for Michael. You haven’t seen him around, have you? He was politicking earlier, but then he just kind of disappeared. You know how that goes.” 

She laughs, and it dawns on Castiel that she has no idea her husband is cheating on her. And, oh, there’s the epiphany he was struggling so hard to grasp a mere moment ago. Michael is cheating on Anna. _At Gabriel’s fucking wedding!_

“Uh,” Castiel swallows his rage and plasters a thin smile on his face. She deserves to know, but not now, not like this. “No, I haven’t, um, seen him anywhere. Sorry.”

“Oh.” Her face falls slightly, but then Anna offers him a forced smile of her own, and it breaks Castiel’s heart. How many times has Michael forced her into this exact scenario? “Well, thanks anyway. I’m gonna try the courtyard again.”

After Castiel watches her go, his hands curl into fists, and he turns on his heel, intent on giving his older brother a piece of his mind, but he’s met with a familiar face that instantly causes his anger to fizzle out and die. “Dean.”

“Hey, uh,” Dean swallows and shifts, dropping his hand. “You took off pretty quick back there. Everything okay?”

His near freak out comes back to him then, and Castiel blinks, caught off guard by the extreme hits his feelings have taken in the last several minutes. “I’m sorry about that. I—” Castiel sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration, and he’s about to ignore their almost kiss like all the drunken kisses they Do Not Talk About in favor of finding a strong drink to knock back when his eyes land on a very rosy cheeked Michael making his way down the stairs with another man at his side. Immediately, Castiel’s anger is back, and he glares at his brother. “I need to have a word with Michael.”

He brushes past his friend, but Dean’s hot on his heels, and Castiel is glad that, despite whatever is going on between them, he can always count on Dean to have his back. Together, they box Michael in at the foot of the staircase, and Michael’s eyes widen in alarm before his carefully constructed mask is back in place.

“Castiel,” he greets before his eyes briefly flick to Dean. “You look like you’re on a mission of some kind.”

“Your _wife_ is looking for you,” Castiel growls. 

“Oh, Dick and I were upstairs discussing a deal that may prove lucrative for the both of us.”

“Dick?”

Michael nods in the direction of the polished man that’d been by his side only moments ago. “Dick Roman. He’s the CEO of SucroCorp and one of my most generous donors. I was surprised to run into him tonight, but it was a pleasure for sure.”

“Really?” Dean asks, his eyebrows hitting his hairline.

Michael runs a hand over his dark hair, his oily smile making Castiel’s stomach flip. “Yes. Our meetings are always a bit of a wild ride, but it’s worth it for the end result.”

Castiel’s brain is dragging again, what he heard and saw and what Michael is telling him not making any sense. It’s a confounding puzzle, one that’s well on its way to giving him a migraine, but Castiel pushes through, determined to figure it out even if he has to force it out of his older brother. “You were upstairs with Dick?”

“Yes?”

“Just now?” Castiel reiterates. “Discussing ‘business?’”

“Dude, not the air quotes,” Dean groans quietly.

Michael’s eyes narrow, and he steps forward, lowering his voice, and it’s that moment—the look on Michael’s face that threatens bodily harm if he doesn’t tow the line Michael feeds him—that makes it all click. “I just told you where and with whom I was. Why can’t you accept that?”

“Because,” Castiel hisses. His body tenses, his muscles coiled and ready for release, but he isn’t sure yet if his brain has settled on fight or flight. “From where I was standing, it didn’t sound like you were discussing anything.”  
_____________

“Cas! Cas, wait up!”

After whatever the hell happened between Cas and Michael back there, Cas took off, heading straight through a side door into the cold air and breaking into a sprint once he reached the edge of the perfectly manicured yard. Dean chased him out, falling behind bit by bit as he cursed his dress shoes for not providing him with a smidge more traction so he could at least keep his best friend in his sightline.

Now, doubling over and heaving deep, clouding breaths in and out, Dean squints into the darkness, scouring the trees in front of him until he sees his friend balled up at the base of one. “Dude,” he gasps, approaching Cas at a walk, “what the hell?”

“Michael,” Cas murmurs into his knees. “He’s…”

“Cheating on Anna. I know.”

Cas’s head snaps up, and a shaft of moonlight cuts across his features, making his eyes practically glow against his pale skin and pitch black hair. “With a man.”

Dean shivers and sits down, his entire right side, shoulder to knee, pressing against Cas. “Yeah. He, uh, he tried to hit on me at the bar. Kinda tipped me off, you know?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cas asks, his hands balling into fists as he huffs a breath.

“Honestly?”

Cas raises a brow and nods.

“You’ve got enough on your plate, man. You didn’t need all… _that_ on top.”

“But I’ve got it anyway.”

“Yeah, well, Fate’s a bitch.”

Cas snorts his agreement before pulling his knees tighter to his chest. “How can he do that, live one life in public and another behind closed doors?” he asks quietly. “He fights against equal rights at every turn, and yet…”

“He’s bangin’ the pool boy and anyone else that’ll have him?” Cas hums, and Dean slips his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. His heart aches for his friend, for the string of never ending crap he’s gone through with his family. It’s bad enough that his parents hate him, but for the golden boy to sneak around and let Cas take all the heat…It’s disgusting. “I’m sorry, angel. This is…well, it’s shit, and you deserve better.”

Cas’s breath stutters as he turns into Dean, and something warm and wet drips down his neck, and it feels like someone is ripping into Dean’s chest and pulling his heart out piece by piece. He presses a kiss to Cas’s mop of unruly hair and tightens the embrace until Cas snakes a hand between his suit and shirt and grips him tight.

They stay like that, hidden in the woods away from the lights of the party raging on in the main house, until the shivers wracking Cas’s body are less from emotion and more from his body trying to stay warm, and Dean nudges his friend carefully. “Come on,” he says. “My ass is asleep and it’s friggin’ cold out here. What do you say we take off for a while, hmm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if that wedding ceremony cleared your skin and added a year to your life. I adore Gabe and Kali, and honestly, after this story is through, I'll be hardpressed not to write about how they got together.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, pie, cookies, and Clapton.
> 
> Love the holidays.

Dean’s hand is warm where it wraps around Castiel’s own as he pulls him back toward the house, and for a fleeting, horrifying moment, Castiel thinks he’s going to force him back inside. Fitting, he thinks, seeing as how the rest of his evening is determined to crash and burn, but no, as they near the edge of the yard, Dean skirts the far reaches of the security lights and the hubbub of the party until they’re ducking behind his beloved Impala’s fender. Both breathe heavily, crouched down and shivering from the night air, and Dean peeks over the hood for several moments before slipping back to the passenger door and easing it open. Once he’s crawled across the seat, he waves Castiel inside, and both stay hunched over and giggling—because they’re children, okay—until Dean fires up the engine. Baby comes alive with a roar, and Castiel only glimpses the surprised faces of the partygoers as they speed away from the house and into the night.

They’re still laughing when they peel onto the highway, Castiel sitting sideways on the bench seat and keeping an eye on his ever-shrinking childhood home through the back glass while Dean keeps her steady. “You think they know it was us?” Dean asks, glancing up at the rearview.

Castiel rolls his eyes fondly and huffs before turning around and holding his freezing hands to the vents. The engine hasn’t fully warmed yet, but soon. He can already feel the beginning vestiges of warmth coming from the rattling heater. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize so many other guests drove cars so similar to your own. _Yes, Dean,_ I think they figured it out.”

“Eh, wasn’t our crowd anyway.” He fiddles one-handed with his tie until it’s free and then balances the wheel with his knees while attempting to get the button on his shirt. “Hey, do you think you can…?”

Castiel slides over and shifts until he’s practically in the man’s lap, and thanks to their earlier incident (which they still won’t discuss) he’s acutely aware of each time his fingers brush Dean’s skin. It doesn’t help, of course, that Dean keeps glancing at his face while Castiel works at the tiny button or that Dean’s lips part on a sigh once it’s done. Castiel swallows. “Got it,” he announces.

“Thanks, angel. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d have another best friend to do it for you.”

“Gross. No way.”

Castiel lifts an eyebrow. “Of course, you would, Dean. People love you, and if I weren’t around, you’d pal around with Charlie or Benny, perhaps even Sam if you lived closer to one another.”

“No, I know I’d have them, but…” Dean wipes his palm on his thigh and shrugs.

“But?” Castiel prompts.

“I dunno, man. They’re great, but I’d rather have you, you know? You and all your weird ass quirks,” he adds with a grin.

“Even my tea?”

Dean sobers. “Especially your tea. I can always smell it when I come through the door after a long day. It’s different than coffee, spicier, and there’s just something about it that makes me feel at home.”

“Really?” Castiel’s voice is small, and his heart thrums wildly in his chest. It’s not that he thinks Dean’s lying, but Dean always complains about Castiel spilling tea leaves on the counters or leaving nearly empty cups in random places throughout the house, and he’s never once done anything more than scrunch his nose when Castiel offers him a taste, so he’s a bit caught off guard hearing that Dean relates the smell to the feeling of home.

“Well, yeah.” Dean rubs at the back of the neck and glances at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. “It still tastes like shit, but it doesn’t smell so bad anymore.”

Something warm curls up in Castiel’s chest, and he finds his hand reaching for Dean’s before he can stop it. Dean doesn’t mention the move, but he does lace their fingers together, and they ride on in silence until they get to the city limits.  
_____________

A bell above the door rings as they push into the diner, and a middle-aged waitress waves a wet rag in their direction and informs them they can sit anywhere. They settle on a booth near the back, sliding in across from each other, and Dean takes a second to slip off his coat and roll the sleeves of his dress shirt as the waitress brings over a pot of coffee and pours them each a cup.

“What can I get you boys?” she asks, pulling out a pen and pad.

Cas shrugs and opens his palms in Dean’s direction, so Dean raises a couple of fingers and grins. “Two slices of your best pie, please.”

“What flavor?”

“Uh…” He swipes his tongue quickly over his lips as he contemplates her question seriously. Cas smirks in his direction, likely knowing how difficult a decision this is for Dean and loving every minute of it, the ass. “You know what? Surprise me.”

“Sure thing, hon.” She shakes her head fondly, stowing the blank pad in her pocket and disappearing into the kitchen. 

When she’s gone, Dean rests his arm over the back of his seat and studies his friend. Cas has loosened up a ridiculous amount since their escape, and his eyes aren’t early as red as they were, but there’s still a hesitancy to his smile, and Dean presses the toe of his shoe against his shin. “How you doin’ over there, angel?”

Cas shrugs and rolls his mug between his palms. “It’s a lot,” he admits carefully. “I’m…adjusting, albeit slowly.”

“Dude, you just found out, like, an hour ago. I think you’ve got plenty of time left to process it.” 

Cas hums thoughtfully but otherwise doesn’t comment, so Dean drops it. Cas will discuss it more when he’s ready, and while Dean’s not usually one to talk about his feelings and crap, he knows Cas is, and if it’ll help his friend feel better, well, who’s he to deny the guy that?

The waitress returns with two thick slices of warm cherry pie and a can of whipped cream, and Dean’s eyes light up when she sprays a hefty mountain of the stuff on the lattice crust. She’s barely turned away again when he’s digging in and moaning around his spoon, and his eyes flutter open to Cas watching him, a barely there curve to his lips.

“What?” Dean asks, a piece of the buttery crust falling from his lips and onto the plate.

Cas shakes his head and curves his spoon into his own slice, carving out a perfectly normal sized bite like the weirdo he is. He eats slowly, maintaining eye contact with Dean the whole time, and swallows before wrapping his long fingers around his cup. “Your enthusiasm never ceases to amaze, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean rolls his eyes with a shrug. “I’m a pig with no table manners. Either sue me or shut up and eat.”

“You know, Dean, there are benefits to taking your time with certain things.”

Dean narrows his eyes as Cas takes another equally slow bite. _What’s he getting at?_

“For example,” he licks the edge of his spoon, and Dean’s transfixed, eyes zeroed in on that flash of tongue, “when you dissect the pie, you take it apart piece by piece, starting with the rich, buttery, flaky crust. Watch how it cracks as the spoon presses into it, and see the cherry filling erupt, coating your spoon and spilling onto the plate. Then, as you lift the bite to your mouth, notice the way the light hits the cherries, and smell that sweet warmth. And it is sweet. The cherries are just waiting to explode in tart bursts on your tongue, Dean. They want you to roll their skins around your mouth and swallow them down until there’s nothing left. Observe.”

Cas places the bite in his mouth and closes his eyes, jaw working lazily around the food as his eyes fall shut, and Dean swears he can see when the cherries burst because Cas’s face melts further, and he releases a short little moan deep in his chest that definitely doesn’t make Dean flush. Without opening his eyes, Cas swipes a finger through the whipped cream on his plate—to the side instead of on his actual pie, again, because he’s a weirdo like that—and sucks it clean with a pop.

Dean’s spoon clatters noisily to his plate.

“Everything alright there, hon?” the waitress calls across the room. 

Dean’s eyes widen, and he has to clear his throat before he can reply. “Ye-yeah. Yes, ma’am. We’re, uh, we’re good.”

The waitress lifts a skeptical eyebrow but continues on wiping down the other tables, and Dean returns to planet earth to find Cas grinning smugly. “What?” he snaps.

“See?” Cas says innocently. “Benefits.”

“Check, please!”  
_____________

Cas is still laughing as they amble up and down the aisles of the local Piggly Wiggly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean gripes, grabbing some butter and tossing it in the cart. “Yuck it up, asshole. You made pie sexy. Good for you. S’not like it’s hard.”

“Oh, it isn’t?” Cas asks. His expression is so flat, so reserved, that they both explode into a fit of laughter.

“Fuck all the way off. That’s not fair and you know it.”

Cas smirks. “Can’t you control yourself, Dean? Or do you normally go around popping a semi when you see others eating baked goods?”

Dean purses his lips, glaring in mock offense at his friend. “You know what?” he says finally. He abandons the display of cream cheese and crosses the dairy aisle until he’s chest to chest with Cas. “You wanna poke fun? Fine. But let’s see how you like it when you’re the one being attacked.”

Cas’s mouth drops open, and Dean takes advantage of his shock. Cupping Cas’s face in both hands, Dean leans in until their lips are almost but not quite touching and is rewarded by a shallow gasp when he swipes his thumb over Cas’s bottom lip. His breath still smells like coffee, and Dean moves closer, crowding him against the cooler and slotting their legs together. Cas is only reacting when his hands clench the back of Dean’s coat, Dean knows that, but he keeps pushing his friend until their bodies are molded to one another, and then, when Cas’s eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back, mouth searching for contact, he stops.

“See?” he breathes into Cas’s mouth. He licks his lips, and Cas’s eyes pop open, tracking the movement while his chest heaves. Ducking his head so that their lips brush with each word, Dean locks gazes with Cas. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.” He pulls away, going back to the cream cheese and retrieving an eight ounce stick of the store brand from the shelf, and when he turns back around, he plasters on the same smirk Cas wore earlier.

Cas blinks and huffs a laugh while rolling his jacket sleeves up to his elbows, his face a shade of red that’s frankly all kinds of adorable. “Touché,” he rasps.

They make it all the way over to the dry goods before Cas finds his voice again.

“Will your mother mind us visiting this late?” he asks, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Are you kidding? She’ll be thrilled! You know how she is.”

“Still, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Listen, angel, she adopted you about thirty years ago, okay?” Dean cups a hand around his mouth while stage whispering, “Get used to it.”

Cas snorts a laugh and shakes his head before going to inspect the wall of spices. The fluorescent lights overhead shouldn’t make anyone attractive, and yet the shadows only highlight Cas’s sharp jawline and long lashes. Dean scrubs a hand over his own jaw and shakes his head at himself. He must still be wound up over the pie debacle. “You should at least text her to let her know we’re coming.”

Dean snaps back to reality, his fingertips trailing over his mouth. “Huh?”

“Your mother?” Cas says, arching an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine she gets many unplanned visitors with you and Sam both living out of state.”

“Already done. I’m not a complete animal, you know. Hey, grab some ginger, would you?”

They finish up in the store and head home, the familiar drive melting away the remaining tension in Dean’s shoulders and lighting him up from the inside. When they pull up to the curb, the porch light is already on over the door, and Dean smiles softly at the unassuming gesture that really shouldn’t mean as much as it does, but then, there’s always been something special about coming home and seeing his mom, something that’s been different since his dad died and Dean was able to reveal his true self to her. She never judged him for his sexuality, not once, but he still worries occasionally if she’s just been hiding her true feelings and would one day shun him, but the porch light says otherwise.

He’s just about to climb out when a hand on his arm pulls him back into the cab. “Dean,” Cas says slowly, “our rings?”

Dean’s eyes flick down to his band, and he silently berates himself for forgetting. “Shit. You’re right.” He pulls it off and tucks it safely into Baby’s ashtray before Cas does the same. “There. We good?”

After Cas nods his approval, they gather the groceries and head up the short walk, rapping a couple of times on the wood and then hunching their shoulders against the biting wind.

“My boys!” Mary waves them in and immediately envelops them in a big hug. “I was so happy when I got your message,” she tells them, leading them towards the kitchen. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow afternoon. What changed?”

“Dean graciously offered to attend Gabriel’s wedding with me,” Cas says. He smiles warmly and it definitely shouldn’t make Dean’s stomach flip, but it does. “He saved me from having to deal with my family alone.”

“Oh, are they still being difficult?”

“You could say that.”

Mary reaches over and pats Cas’s cheek affectionately. “I’m sure they’ll come around eventually. They just need time. Now, what are we baking?”  
_____________

Castiel is up to his elbows in flour and cinnamon, and he is most definitely not checking out Dean’s ass in the grey sweats Mary found for him. Frankly, he’s surprised either of them can still fit into the same clothes they wore in high school, and while they aren’t as roomy as he remembers, they are twice as comfy, the material soft after so many washes. 

“Hey, angel, you got the snickerdoodles ready to go in?”

“Almost,” Castiel mutters, rolling another ball into the cinnamon-sugar mixture and placing it on a cookie sheet. Turning to the sink, he washes the sticky dough from his fingers and snags the towel from Dean’s shoulder to dry his hands. “Are we ready to ice the gingerbread?”

Dean hits start on his phone’s timer and presses his finger to a few of the various shapes spread out over the cooling rack. “Yep. Ready to get your art on?”

“Don’t go staining my table with food coloring like you did last year!” Mary calls from the living room. She appears in the doorway, arms full of boxes, and blows a greying curl out of her eyes. “It took ages to refinish it after your impromptu food fight.”

“Sorry,” they say in unison.

Mary rolls her eyes and nods at the unbalanced load in her hold. “Care to help a girl out?”

“Oh! Of course!” Castiel trips over his own feet in an effort to get to her quickly, and Mary laughs softly.

“And they say chivalry is dead.”

Dean pauses in mixing bright green frosting and points at her with his whisk. “Chivalry is an outdated concept, Mom.”

“Says who?”

“Modern feminism for one, and you for two.”

“You did always tell us to be polite because it was the right thing to do and not because of someone’s gender,” Castiel agrees.

“So, you did listen to me.”

Castiel and Dean share a glance before Dean shrugs. “Occasionally.”

“He did retain a vast understanding of the dance steps you taught him,” Castiel supplies helpfully. 

Mary has just enough time to appear shocked before Dean is pulling her into his arms, and as they begin to sway, Castiel drops the needle on the old record player in the corner. Zeppelin II crackles through the room, and if anyone ever asks, Castiel will blame the stove for the warmth that creeps up his neck when Mary sniffles.

“When you were little,” she begins quietly, “your father and I used to dance to these songs. It was his idea to put that thing in here in the first place. He said I deserved to be twirled around a real dancefloor every night of the week, but since he couldn’t do that, he’d settle for the next best thing.”

Dean swallows and exhales slowly—silently—through his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut, and Castiel knows how complex Dean’s feelings are regarding his father. He’d stayed up late with him many times both before and after the man’s death while Dean ranted and complained and cried over John, and he’ll never quite understand all the ins and outs of it because Castiel’s relationship with his own father has never been anything more than lukewarm at best, and that’s hard enough, but to actually love John with such ferocity as Sam and Dean have always done…No. He’ll never understand it, but he will always be there when Dean needs him. It’s the least he can do.

So, while Mary and Dean reminisce between the refrigerator and microwave, Castiel keeps an eye on the snickerdoodles and pulls them out when he’s pretty sure they’re done, and he bags the icing so it’ll be there when Dean is ready to decorate the gingerbread, and he runs a sink full of soapy water and scrubs pans until Led Zeppelin spins out and Dean appears at his side, dishtowel in hand.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Dean murmurs thickly, swiping at his nose.

“I know, but your mother needed you.”

“Yeah…”

They work in silence, Castiel washing and Dean drying, until the dishes peter out and the counters are mostly clean. Then Dean puts on a new record, and he and Castiel ice the gingerbread men and box up the other cookies while Clapton croons in the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, thoughts? Comments? Constructive criticism?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey.”

Dean scrunches his nose before settling back into the warm cushions.

“Heyyyyyyy. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey. Uncle Dee. Uncle Dee, Daddy says it’s time for you to wake up or he’s gonna, um.” The kid’s voice drops to a whisper, and Dean, now that he’s somewhat conscious and aware of the munchkin that’s been poking him in the cheek for the last few minutes, bites back a smile. “What’d you say again?”

“If he doesn’t wake up, I’m going to take the Impala for a spin,” Sam whispers back.

At that, Dean cracks an eye open and glares at his brother. “Do and die,” he croaks. “Last time you took her out, you ruined her paintjob.”

“That cart came out of nowhere!” Sam retorts, waving his hand wildly. “It was _not_ there when I got in and checked the mirrors!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He tries to sit up but finds his legs and feet inextricably tangled with Cas’s and the large quilt they robbed from the hall closet the night before after deciding to camp out on the couch instead of driving back to the Novaks’ at two in the morning. Cas’s mouth hangs open on a snore, and his arm is slung back over the end of the couch, so Dean digs his heel into Cas’s ribs until the man rolls onto his side. “Cas. Time to wake up, dude. Family’s here.”

“Where?” Cas grumbles, his voice distorted by the back of the couch as he smushes his face into it.

“Here, as in, right beside your stinky a—” Dean flinches under Eileen’s sharp glare and quickly covers. “Ankles. Seriously, Cas, scrub ‘em once in a while, yeah? Now, get off me so I can give my sister-in-law a proper hug.”

His friend shifts into a sitting position—albeit with a baleful, squinty-eyed glare cast in Dean’s direction—and runs a hand through his wild hair. The look screams sex, but Dean’s been around him long enough to know that’s just Cas’s default, and any attempt at taming the locks only lasts a few hours at most, and that’s with the good gel. Although, and he would one hundred percent deny it if anyone asked, Dean’s kind of partial to the just-fucked look. It’s just so… _Cas_.

Unfortunately, Dean’s so caught up in staring at Cas that he almost misses Katie when the four-year-old throws herself on his chest. “Oof! Hey Katie-bug!”

“Morning, Uncle Dee! Daddy says you’re gonna hurt your back sleeping on the couch ‘cause you’re too old.”

“Does he now?” Dean raises his eyebrows at his niece and grins. “Maybe Daddy should be more careful about what he says because I’m still as flexible as I was ten years ago, and I’ve got a list of people who can testify to that.”

“You _do?!_ ” Katie says, eyes wide.

“Yep.”

Katie grows still, her face as suspicious as Sam’s when he’s onto something. Narrowing her hazel eyes, she says, “I didn’t know you take gymnastics.”

Sam splutters around the mug of coffee Mary dropped into his hands and lays a hand on his little girl’s shoulder. “No, sweetheart. He, um, well, he…”

“He does yoga,” Cas supplies.

“ _Does_ he now?” Sam smirks at Dean and opens his mouth to make some stupid remark, but Dean cuts him off.

“Ah! No! I, I mean, I occasionally join Cas for a session, but it, well, it—it’s not like I make it a regular thing or…whatever.”

“That’s true,” Cas concedes. “Although you have grown quite talented and have greatly improved from where you started. I’ve seen you bend yourself into poses even the most talented yogi’s find difficult.”

Heat floods Dean’s face, and he stammers while flashes of their yoga sessions flood his brain. He can recall in vivid detail each time Cas appraised his form or corrected him with gentle but firm hands and how those same hands all but seared his skin. “Cas is a fantastic teacher,” Dean finally manages, pushing up and rubbing the back of his neck. Sam’s eyebrows hit his hairline, and his lips part in surprise while Eileen’s twist into a smirk, so Dean quickly changes the subject. “I’m starving. Mom, I’ll make breakfast. Cool?”

“Oh, sure.” Mary blows gently across the top of her steaming mug, a greying curl falling over her eyes. “You know where everything is. Just don’t unplug the Crock Pot or the roast won’t be done by lunch.”

On his way out, Dean bends down to peck his mother on the cheek and calls over his shoulder, “C’mon, angel. If you’re gonna socialize, then you need at least one cup of the good stuff.”  
_____________

Castiel ends up getting booted out of the kitchen after his second cup makes him brave enough to try and tell Dean how to fry bacon, so he joins Eileen on the couch and engages her in conversation. He does his best to sign as much as he can while he speaks, but his ASL is a bit rusty. Luckily, Eileen takes pity on him and signs as well as gently correcting his motions while discussing her take on the latest manuscript to cross her desk without giving away specific details.

“How’s your book coming along?” Eileen asks eventually, as Castiel knew she inevitably would.

Running a hand through his hair, Castiel grins. “Um…slowly?”

“Why am I not surprised?”

They laugh, and Castiel nods, tracing a finger around the rim of his cup. “I’ve run into a bit of a speedbump with the main characters.” Eileen nods, urging him on, and something in him snaps. “There’s all this tension where there shouldn’t be,” he blurts. “Romance was never a part of the story, not because I don’t think gay cowboys existed in the late 1800s, but because these particular cowboys aren’t gay. One is engaged to a lovely girl back home, and the other is a widower who’s stated several times he’ll never love again.”

Eileen frowns. “So? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“These two men are very firm in their morals, and they’d never go back on their commitments. To do so would drastically change their character arcs, and that’s nothing compared to how their own relationship would look to others.”

“What do you mean?”

“In that time,” Castiel explains, “it was normal for two men to live together, especially if one was a widower as in this story. No one looked twice at two men managing a large ranch because it was a lot of work, but for the one who was engaged to suddenly cut the engagement off right before moving in with another man, _that_ would raise a few eyebrows from the townsfolk.”

“Love doesn’t make sense,” Eileen says softly. “It’s difficult, and even the strongest relationships are tested at some point.” She curls her legs beneath her and lays a hand on Castiel’s arm. “If I was your editor, I’d tell you to run with this plotline, at the very least map it out and see if it has potential, and if it works, great! Sometimes stories take hold of their own reins, and that’s okay. Sometimes the characters know what’s best for themselves before the author realizes what’s happening, and by the time they do, it’s usually too late because all of those little details are already woven into the story.”

“So, you think I should add a romantic thread to my book?”

“The thread is already there, Cas. You just have to pull it.” 

Katie shrieks from her playroom upstairs right as Sam passes through the room. Catching his wife’s eye, he says, “I’ve got to run outside for a minute. Do you mind checking on Katie really quick? It sounds like she’s up to no good.”

Eileen’s face drops, but she nods. “Duty calls. Think about what I said, okay?”

“I will, thank you.” And he means it. Already, Castiel’s mind is working through various scenes and scenarios his characters could play out if he allows them to continue on this path. He hasn’t given them much thought lately, using the Vegas trip as a break that’d hopefully spur new inspiration, but then the whole thing with his mother happened, and, well, at this point, Castiel isn’t even sure if he remembered to pack his laptop, so if he does manage to get a few notes actually written before New Year’s, they’ll have to be on his phone.

That decided, Castiel decides to take advantage of his time and grab a quick shower before Dean finishes breakfast, but as he makes his way to the hall, he’s nearly bowled over by the younger Winchester barreling through the foyer. Sam tosses a quick apology over his shoulder, but just as quickly as he rushed in, he disappears into the kitchen at the back of the house.

“Weird,” Castiel murmurs.  
_____________

Dean hums absently to himself while checking the underside of a pancake with a spatula. “Almost.”

The kitchen is his favorite part of his mom’s house, and it’s not only because of the memories he has here. Dean’s always enjoyed cooking. There’s a weird sort of peace to be found in the repetitive motions of mixing or kneading or shaping various foods, and it takes less thought than fixing an engine requires. Really, it’s more instinct than—

“Dude, you are so dead.”

Dean sighs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as his little brother crashes his good mood with that voice, the one that drips with disappointment and promises swift Karmic retribution. “What did I do this time, Samuel?”

“It’s Sam, and it’s not so much what you did, but what you didn’t do.” Gigantor’s shoes make the floor creak as he crosses the room. “Namely, calling me.”

Something clinks onto the countertop at Dean’s elbow, and he glances down to see— “Oh.”

“Oh? I go to hide Eileen’s present in the Impala and find a couple of wedding bands, and all you have to say is, ‘oh?’” Sam huffs while Dean fingers Cas’s ring, scrambling to come up with a suitable explanation.

“How do you know they’re wedding bands? Maybe I’ve finally hopped onto a fashion trend bandwagon.” Okay, not his best work, but it’s not ideal circumstances either.

Sam gives him his patented bitchface and says, “They’re different sizes. I checked.”

_Fuck. Fucking fuckity, fuck, fuck._

“You—Jesus, Sam! Why? Why would you do that?”

“No! Don’t try and turn this around on me!” _And Sam has officially reached the flailing arms stage of his rant. Awesome._ “I didn’t even know you were dating, Dean! And now you’re gonna ask someone to marry you? Who is it? Do I know them?”

“Know who?” Mary asks, standing on her tiptoes to snag the Tupperware of cookies from the top of the fridge. She smiles around a bite and gestures over her shoulder. “Eileen gave me a break.”

“Dean’s getting married.”

“ _SAM!_ ”

Mary’s face lights up, and she dashes across the kitchen to wrap Dean up in her arms, both hands still clutching the container and a cookie. “I’m so happy for you! When did this happen? Who is it?”

“Mom, I don’t—”

“He won’t tell me,” Sam cuts in. He folds his arms over his chest and smirks when Mary bops Dean upside the head. 

“Ow!”

“Did you know about this?” she asks Sam.

“I just found out.”

“What’s going on?” Eileen asks, leading a disheveled Katie in by the hand. Her eyes dart rapidly around the room reading everyone’s body language before coming to rest on her husband. Sam quickly signs something to her, and Eileen’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding!”

Dean backs up until his hips hit the warm stove, and he holds up his hands, palms out. “Now, just hold on a second. It isn’t like that.”

“When were you planning on telling me?” Mary asks. She’s definitely angry, that much he can tell, but there’s more to it based on the hurt that flashes across her features. “ _Were_ you planning on telling me?”

“Mom, you don’t understand. It’s just—”

“Oh God. You weren’t, were you?”

“Mom, wait—"

“He did it for me.”

Dean chokes his friend’s name, and every head in the room turns to stare at the man vigorously towel-drying his hair in the doorway. Slinging the towel around his shoulders, Cas cuts through the room until he and Dean are standing side by side, his bare chest pressing a damp spot onto the sleeve of Dean’s tee, and, oh. Cas guides him forward a step before flicking off the burner with a practiced twist of his wrist.

“Don’t want you to burn yourself,” Cas murmurs, his mouth curling up. “Too bad about the pancake, though.”

“Shit!” Dean hisses, whirling around to check out the—fuck. Looks like his mom’s getting a new pan for Christmas because no way in hell is that coming off. “I forgot!”

“So you did.” Cas leans in close enough that Dean can smell the body wash clinging to his skin, and Dean swallows as Cas whispers, “Do you trust me?”

“With my life, Cas. You know that.”

Placing his hand on the small of Dean’s back, Cas clears his throat and addresses the others. “Dean and I were married during our trip to Vegas last weekend. Dean never wanted to exclude any of you, but after I expressed concern over my family not supporting a normal wedding, he suggested we make it just the two of us so it’d be fair, and we decided to make a surprise out of it for all of you, but especially for you, Mary. We knew an announcement such as this should be made in person, and we’d planned a much larger reveal, but it seems that ship has sailed.”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean cuts in, all but sticking his tongue out at his brother.

Cas smiles indulgently at the exchange and wraps an arm firmly around Dean’s waist before looking back to Mary with wide eyes. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive him?”

Mary and Eileen both “aww” over his speech, and even Dean has to admit it was really good—definitely better than anything he’d come up with. “You’ve always been one of my boys,” Mary says, but then, wagging a finger in their direction, she blinks back a few tears. “You tell me the _second_ you know you’re having kids, or I’ll kill you both.”

As Mary wraps her arms around Dean’s neck, he splutters indignantly while Eileen begins explaining all the options they have (surrogacy, adoption, and fostering—oh my!), and soon she and Sam are deep in conversation, detailing everything down to renovating the spare bedroom at Dean and Cas’s house into a nursery.

“I’m so happy for you, Dean,” Mary whispers in his ear. Stepping back, she places a hand on his cheek, and dammit, her cheeks are wet, but she’s smiling, and that only makes his skin heat with even more shame than he initially had for lying to her. His mom winces, and she starts to say something, but the words jam up on her tongue.

“Mom?”

“It’s nothing,” she says, offering him a soft smile while also visibly fighting back more tears. “I just, I wish your father could be here.”

It’s like a bucket of cold water down his spine.

As if this wasn’t weird enough, Mary just had to go and mention his dad, the guy who’d shouted obscenities at a gay couple in the grocery store before marching out to the car with a six year old Dean struggling to keep up. Dean swallows as the memory of his father’s lecture on the car ride home blares in his ears, and his shoulder burns from where his dad had not-so-gently yanked his arm in an effort to get them both out of the store as soon as possible. It was the first time he’d seen his dad truly _hate_ something, and the memory of his face all twisted with rage is just as scary now as it was then.

John Winchester wouldn’t be happy for them.

He’d murder Cas in cold blood.

As difficult as it is, Dean manages to force joy he doesn’t feel onto his face, and his voice barely shakes when he says, “Me, too.”

Cas, ever his guardian angel, slides his hand down Dean’s forearm until he can lace their fingers together, and Dean grips onto the man like a lifeline while the chatter continues on around them. Mary has moved on to hug Cas while Sam slaps Dean on the shoulder and drones on about…well, Dean’s not exactly sure what his little brother is talking about. It’s all a droll buzzing in his ears at this point, but he manages to nod in all the right places—which is a fucking miracle in and of itself—until Sam squeezes his shoulder tightly and disappears into the other room with Katie on his hip and Eileen and Mary right behind them, and then it’s just him and Cas, alone in his mother’s kitchen, and how the hell did they even get here? One minute he was cooking breakfast, and the next—

“Dean.”

Cas’s low rumble drags Dean back to reality, and he surfaces amid gasps of air, blinking back tears and pressing the heel of his free hand to his chest. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, more out of reflex than anything, and judging by the way Cas’s eyebrows quirk, the dude doesn’t believe a word of it but wisely says nothing.

Instead, Cas uses their interlocked hands to pull Dean in until his forehead is resting on Cas’s shoulder. Long fingers trail up and down Dean’s spine in slow, rhythmic strokes, and Dean squeezes Cas’s hips gratefully.

Somehow, and he isn’t sure why, Cas always knows exactly what he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much needed fluff is on the way.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

“So,” Sam says as everyone begins digging into their breakfast. The way his eyes are all lit up, Dean knows he’s about to pounce. _Damn lawyer._ “How did you guys go from friends to dating?”

Mary folds her hands under her chin, gazing at them from the head of the table. “I’d love to hear about it.”

Swallowing, Dean glances at Cas. They hadn’t worked out all the hard details because they didn’t think Cas’s family would pry much, and they definitely hadn’t anticipated having to tell the Winchester clan.

“It was…a surprise,” Cas admits finally. He laces their fingers together and smiles down at them before meeting Sam’s probing gaze. “Though it happened slowly, I think, in stages.”

Dean nods, picking up the story easily. “It was the little things, you know? Like, one day we were goofing off, and I caught myself thinking, ‘Wow. I could hang out with him like this for the rest of our lives.’”

Okay, so maybe that part’s not entirely untrue. Dean _did_ have that thought one day, but not in a romantic way. It was purely platonic, just a dude contemplating a lifelong friendship with another dude who had already been his friend for several decades. No big deal, right?

Cas points at Dean with his fork and grins. “It would have taken him months to say anything, but I’d had similar realizations about Dean, and I knew him well enough to pick up on his near constant state of anxiety around me and why he was acting that way, so I broached the subject first.”

Eileen leans in, totally engrossed in the tale, and Dean has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. He loves the girl, but how is it that his entire family believes them so easily? “What happened?” she asks.

“I asked him out.”

“Like, on a date?” Sam says.

Dean shakes his head. “I didn’t know it at the time. Dude just asked if I wanted to catch a movie Friday, and I said sure. It’s nothing we haven’t done a thousand times before, so I didn’t see it as a red flag. Then, I met him at the house after work, and he was all decked out in a blazer with his hair fixed and stuff, and it caught me off guard. So, I took a quick shower and did my best to look nice.”

“He freaked out.”

“Dude.”

Cas just shrugs and pats his arm as if to say, _It’s okay, hon_. “It was cute.”

“I was nervous!”

“Adorable.”

“ _Whatever._ ” Dean rolls his eyes and keeps going. “So, we went out—”

“What’d you see?” Sam interrupts. Eileen cuts her eyes at him, and he shrugs. “What? It’s a valid question.”

For whatever reason, probably because he’s the smarter of the two of them, Cas deftly maneuvers out of the question. “Actually, we never got that far. Once Dean found a parking spot, he was all but shaking.”

“And then Cas just kinda, you know, took my hand or whatever—”

“And I kissed him. Lightly, of course, because I was still anxious to be changing our relationship so drastically, but Dean responded in kind, and…” Cas trails off, gazing into Dean’s eyes with such adoration that it honestly takes him a second to remember that someone should probably say something to break the silence. 

“And that was it,” Dean murmurs. He licks his lips lightly and watches as Cas tracks the movement—just like he did at the wedding, dammit—before saying, “I was a goner for him.”

Cas hums, and the corner of his mouth curls gently into that barely there smile he wears so easily. His dark lashes flutter against his cheekbones as he casts one last glance down at their hands, and then he’s turning back to the others and asking Sam about the latest case at his firm. 

And then, watching Cas interact with his family, fitting in seamlessly as he has always done despite now being referred to as Dean’s _husband,_ Dean forgets for just a moment that this, all of this, is fake. He indulges himself in the idea of having a partner to share his life with, someone to come home to and curl up on the couch with, someone who supports him and who he can support in turn whenever they need it, someone to laugh with and tease, someone to make love to and know that they’ll still be there in the morning. He’s never really entertained the idea of marriage because he’s never found anyone he found a romantic connection with—as a result he’d self-identified as aromantic years ago, thank you very much—but now, with his hand locked in Cas’s, he thinks to himself that maybe pretending to be married to each other for the rest of their lives won’t be so bad.  
_____________

These days, marriage is all around Castiel, so much so, in fact, that he can’t _not_ contemplate the idea on a deeper level.

Passing a plate of bacon to Eileen, he watches the way she and Sam work in sync without so much as uttering a syllable related to the task at hand. After serving herself, Eileen passes the dish to Sam while she retrieves Katie’s plate and fishes out a serving, then they switch, and Sam pulls a couple of strips onto his own plate while Eileen holds the bacon. The move is so thoughtless, so smooth it’s surely been orchestrated prior to their gathering, and yet they perform it well without ever disrupting the flow of conversation. It’s interesting, and Castiel finds himself reflecting on his childhood, but he can’t remember a single moment where his parents ever did anything similar, but then, they rarely ever showed affection to begin with, and he’s always wondered if there was ever any love between them or if their marriage was based on convenience and nothing more.

_Could I do that?_

Immediately he dismisses the thought. Merely entertaining the notion causes a swell of nausea to rise up in his stomach, so he can’t imagine going through with the actual act of marrying someone simply because of what they could do for him.

_But isn’t that what I’m doing now?_

He glances down at where Dean still holds his hand atop the table, his thumb stroking idly over Castiel’s wedding band while using his left hand to eat—which shouldn’t be so impressive, but it is. Sure, they’re only _pretending_ to be married, but unlike his own family that they’ll probably never see again outside of funerals and weddings or the occasional visit with Gabriel and Kali, they’ll see the Winchesters several times a year and have to maintain this crazy façade. What has he done, roping Dean into a lifelong commitment such as this? How is it fair to him? Castiel never should have offered up their lie as a solution to the interrogation he walked in on earlier, but Dean had looked so stricken by the onslaught, and no one would listen to him, and Castiel just blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Everything okay, angel?”

Castiel’s eyes snap up, and he wonders briefly how he hadn’t noticed Dean leaning in to whisper in his ear, but Dean is _right there_ , his face so close Castiel can map each individual constellation of freckles that dots his skin, so close he can feel the gentle puffs of air that are released from between his parted lips with each breath, so close he can pick out the brighter, leafy green flecks against his otherwise olive irises. Dean’s beauty is enough to make a lesser being fall to their knees in awe, but Castiel has never claimed greatness, and so it surprises even him that he can manage a coherent thought while staring at his friend, let alone form a full sentence made of actual _words._

“Fine,” he breathes. As an afterthought, he forces his lips to curl. “Just thinking.”

Dean cuffs him on the chin and smirks, eyes full of laughter. “Don’t wander around in there too long. Don’t want you to end up lost.”

Ah, there’s that wit he’s grown to have such a love-hate relationship with. Slapping on his most saccharine smile, Castiel bats his lashes and lowers his voice enough that Dean has to lean in even closer to hear him. “Fuck you.”

Dean’s head snaps back as he lets loose an abrupt bark of laughter, and it’s so him, so Dean, that Castiel can’t help but laugh with him while the others look on in confusion.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” Mary says casually before sipping at her coffee. She rolls her eyes and gestures with the cup, but Castiel can just make out the ghost of a smile on her lips before she says, “We’re just wondering what’s going on over there.”

Sam grins, stretching out to rest his arm along the back of Eileen’s chair. His thumb sweeps along the thick sweater covering her shoulder as she leans into the touch. “They’re newlyweds, Mom. I’m surprised they haven’t disappeared upstairs for a little one-on-one time yet.”

Dean flushes, but he directs a finger at his brother. “Shut your face.”

Sam lets loose a large, booming laugh, and then Dean’s tossing a wadded up paper towel at his face. It’s the first shot in what results to nothing short of a scuffle as Sam retaliates with some bacon—which Dean takes an obscene amount of offense to—and is chased around the dining room and into the hall by his older brother while Eileen attempts to keep Katie in her seat when all the little girl wants is to jump headfirst into the fray. 

“Cas!” Dean calls as Sam grips one of the doorframes and catapults himself into the living room. “Bacon!”

“Don’t you dare,” Mary warns as Castiel finds the discarded slice on the hardwood floor. He locks eyes with the woman for a split second, torn between helping his friend and the maternal fear Mary Winchester can strike in all her boys with a single look.

“Cas!”

Flashing Mary an apologetic grin, Castiel dives for the bacon and takes off toward the sound of feet stampeding down the stairs. As he slides to a stop, he’s met with Sam’s broad chest mere feet above him and just manages to dive out of the way before Sam shoots by. Meanwhile, Dean’s holding up his hand, and after Castiel throws it, Dean plucks the bacon out of the air and follows his brother out the front door, full on launching himself off the front porch and into the air.

Both Winchester brothers tumble forward into the snow-covered yard, and Dean wrestles Sam around until he’s on his back and Dean is straddling his waist. “Eat it!” Dean yells, shoving the bacon into Sam’s face.

Sam writhes in the snow, flinging handfuls at his brother and yelling in between laughing. “Help! Help!”

“No! You’re gonna show this bacon the respect…it…deserves!”

“Oh no,” Eileen murmurs. Castiel glances down and sees her shaking her head and smiling fondly at the scene. Biting her lip, she whips out her phone and begins taking a video of the guys fighting, and when Castiel arches a brow at her, she just shrugs. “Blackmail,” she explains. “I’m getting that kitchen remodel if it kills me.”

Castiel turns then, leaning against the doorframe so she can see his mouth better. “He’s still being stubborn?”

“Stubborn? He’s been slipping Home Depot flyers into my purse and car since last spring. He thinks it’ll convince me to let him do the bathrooms first, but I’m not giving in just yet. When I’m ready, I’ll present my case, and I never lose. After all, I learned from the best.”

The rest of the fight doesn’t last long, and Eileen discreetly puts her phone away when Katie slips by her and jumps on top of the men. Mary must have bundled her up because she’s now dressed in her winter gear, and the battle turns lighter as Sam and Dean let her rope them into a relaxed snowball fight.

Inside, Castiel begins gathering dishes to take to the kitchen, but Mary lightly bats his hands away. “Go play,” she insists. “I’ve got this.”

“I can’t possibly—”

“Castiel.” Mary rarely uses his full name, so it automatically makes him throw on the brakes and listen. Taking his hands, she smiles softly before reaching up to brush his hair off his forehead in a gesture so maternal it makes his chest ache. “Go play,” she repeats. “You have to learn to take advantage of the little moments while you can because they won’t always be there. So, go. Make memories with your husband. The dishes can wait.”

Castiel stares open-mouthed at Mary, but then he gets it. Nodding, he pulls out of her grasp and heads to the door where his and Dean’s coats still hang from the night before, and, as per Mary’s additional instruction, he also grabs a couple of thick scarves and joins Dean in the sunlight.  
_____________

Cheers erupt as they enter Harvelle’s, and Dean hangs his head with a groan. “’Go celebrate,’ she said. ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ she said. Ha! I bet Mom called Ellen as soon as we left.”

“No such luck, Dean-o,” Gabriel shouts over the din. “If you’re gonna blame someone, point the finger this way.”

Kali leans in and actually speaks at a somewhat normal level. “He insisted on a joint party, said it’d be less stuffy than the reception last night.”

“You know we don’t do that here!” Ellen Harvelle, in all her glory, appears out of thin air and wraps him in a warm hug.

“Hey, Ellen,” Dean sighs into her hair, hugging her back just as tightly. Few people could come so close to eliciting the same feelings in Dean as his mother, but seeing as how Ellen knows Mary better than just about anyone else on the planet—the two have been thick as thieves since second grade—there’s no one else he’d call his second mother. “How’re things?”

“Better now. Come on back. I’ve got your booth saved.”

“Wait, you’re not mad?” He’d expected any number of death threats from the woman when she found out he got married without telling her, and all this fluff is putting him on edge.

“Well, I was sure as hell shocked, but I’m more glad you two finally pulled your heads outta your asses.”

Catching her hand before she can pull away, Dean asks. “Woah, what do you mean finally?”

Ellen smirks and gestures over her shoulder. “You and loverboy have a seat. I’ll send your drinks over in a minute. The usuals, right?”

She melts back into the crowd, leaving Dean baffled by her offhand remark. Now that he thinks about it, no one they’ve had to pretend in front of seemed surprised that _they_ were together at all. Like Ellen said, the only thing anyone—other than the majority of Cas’s family, but they’re a bunch of pricks anyway, so—had a problem with was the fact that they didn’t tell anyone before supposedly getting married, and that…What the hell is Dean supposed to do with that?

He glances over as Cas appears at his side, and together they move through the mass of bodies until they reach what was always their table growing up. They’d spent countless hours over the years doing homework and just hanging out at the Roadhouse while their mom finished up her shift, and he’s pretty sure the seats molded to his ass at some point. It’s with that thought that Dean slides onto the warm, cracked vinyl and absently runs his fingers over the battered finish in front of him. “Would you look at that,” he mutters when his fingertips find the familiar markings etched into the table. They’re worn, the letters not quite as sharp after so many years of patrons’ glasses and forearms rubbing against the table, but the initials are still distinguishable if he tilts his head just right.

Cas hums beside him, propping his chin on his fist, and smiles softly. “I wonder why she didn’t sand them down before applying fresh lacquer.”

“Dunno.” Dean huffs a laugh and shakes his head before looking back down at their initials, still side by side after all this time, and more quietly than the first time, he murmurs, “I dunno.”

“Have we ever been that sappy, sweetheart?” Gabe asks, projecting his overly sweet voice so anyone within a five mile radius could hear him.

Kali bats his hand away when he tries to touch her hair, but she smirks some and intertwines their fingers. “Never. And rest assured, I’d kill you if you tried.”

“That’s my girl, but what’ll we do about Dumb and Dumber? They’re so sweet, even I’m starting to gag.”

“There’s always drugs,” she suggests lightly. “Or we could kidnap and drop them off in the middle of nowhere.”

“Ooh, and we could move into the pool house ‘til the end of the holidays.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Turning back to Dean and Cas, Gabe raises a brow. “What do you think, boys? Wanna play Survivor and let us take your room for a few days? I promise we’ll leave the lube alone.”

“Speak for yourself,” Kali interjects. The way she eyeballs her husband speaks volumes about their bedroom dynamic, and, true to form, Gabe waggles his brows suggestively before leaning in and whispering something in her ear. Whatever it is, Kali laughs and shrinks away as Gabe tries to kiss her neck. All at once, the usually stern woman is reduced to a giggling frenzy.

“Talk about sappy,” Cas murmurs. 

Slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulders, Dean pulls Cas close to his side. “You’re gonna have to quit, Gabe. I think you’re making the Mr. jealous.”

“Lucky for you,” Jo says, plopping her tray onto the table and making the drinks on it slosh over the edges of their glasses, “I’ve got the perfect remedy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Pucker up boys.”

Cas furrows his brow and cocks his head as she puts low ball glasses in front of each of them. “Why?”

Raising her own glass, Jo smiles broadly and gestures above their heads. “Because, you have to kiss under the mistletoe.”

Dean groans inwardly and glares at his pseudo-sister while everyone else looks up to check her story. Gabe and Kali readily indulge the tradition with a short but sweet peck on the lips, and then Cas is staring wide-eyed at Dean, and he’d be lying if some of the same fear visible in Cas’s expression wasn’t mirrored in his own gut, but still, everyone is watching, and even Ellen can be seen from the corner of his eye waving away some patron’s order as she leans over the bar to get a peek.

Swallowing, Dean cups Cas’s chin and pulls him close, careful of the other man’s expression and waiting to see if he’ll throw on the brakes, but Cas is looking right back at him and breathing shallowly through parted lips, and slow, so slow it seems to take forever for it to actually happen, their heads tilt and their eyes flutter closed, and then Dean is kissing Cas, his mouth pulling on Cas’s upper lip while Cas sucks in a sharp inhale through his nose, and everything’s much warmer than it should be when he’s sober, heat surging up and down his spine and settling low in his belly before bleeding into his groin, and _God_ but it feels right like this, their arms hugging each other close and stubble-roughened chins brushing together with each incremental movement of their mouths. Absently, Dean thinks he should probably start to pull back before someone makes a joke about them getting a room, but then Cas’s tongue swipes over his lower lip, and Dean’s only being polite by joining Cas’s in a slick dance, right?

It's just a kiss, and Dean’s had thousands. The stirring in his chest doesn’t mean anything because it _can’t_ , and they’ve kissed each other before, albeit under different circumstances and having never talked about it afterward, so maybe that’s why this feels different. They’re completely aware of what they’re doing, totally cognizant of every second that passes between the first brush of their lips and the eventual parting—whenever that’ll be, Dean’s not one to rush things—and he has no clue if they’ll talk about this kiss tomorrow or not, and Dean’s not sure if he wants to pick apart the reasoning behind every sweep of his tongue or the way the hair on his arms rises beneath his flannel despite the almost oppressive heat in the bar, and he should be afraid of that conversation, should be ready to jump in Baby and get the hell out of Dodge, but right now, as Cas breathes into his mouth and his hands tighten on the back of Dean’s neck, Dean can’t shake the feeling that he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

“Holy _shit_.”

Jo’s curse brings Dean back from the brink of too far, and he breaks away from Cas with a breathless gasp. Cas seems just as off kilter, still leaning forward even as Dean blinks at him, but then he seemingly gets a hold on himself, too, because he jerks upright before he can fall further into Dean’s lap.

It feels like the whole bar is cheering for them, and the heat from before makes its return in what he’s sure is a firetruck blush that reaches his hairline and ears, but all Dean can do is stare.

 _Holy shit is right._  
_____________

“Do you see what I see?” Kali murmurs, her lips brushing Gabriel’s ear. 

Unconsciously, he leans into his wife— _God,_ that’ll never get old—and hums in question before sipping his peppermint whiskey. “What’s that?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she admits reluctantly, “but look at them. Does that look like a couple of newlyweds to you?”

Gabriel narrows his eyes and studies his brother and brother-in-law closely only to find himself agreeing with her. The guys look like a couple of teens watching their first porno, definitely interested by the whole thing but a little too scared to admit to the guy sitting next to them just how much they like the experience. Gabriel almost laughs when they both down their drinks at the same time, but he’s got the feeling this is something that should stay under wraps for the time being, so instead he waves at the door as Sam and Eileen shake off the cold, and then he leans back in to Kali.

“I think it’s time to call in a favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's hoping you all are having a good holiday season. All the best from me and mine to you and yours!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Gabriel Novak, 11:52a.m. : [attachment] _911\. Whaddya say 2 a Xmas miracle?_

Sam blinks down at his phone before scanning the contents of the attached document carefully, and then his eyes snap up to find his older brother. Dean’s got Katie on his shoulders, and she’s pointing to one of the items on the food truck’s menu while Cas relays her order to the guy inside. They’d decided to do a little last-minute shopping to get Katie out of the house for a while—she was going stir crazy, and he knew Eileen could use the break—and were about halfway done when Dean suggested they all grab coffee or hot chocolate, but then a rack of secondhand books outside an antique store caught Sam’s eye, so he hurried over to take a look while he could, and that was when his phone chimed in his pocket.

Thumbing over the screen, he taps it a few times and holds it to his ear.

_“Ricky’s Morgue. You stab ‘em, we slab ‘em!”_

“Is this real?” Sam demands.

Gabriel’s voice turns silky smooth, and Sam grits his teeth against the sound. _“That depends. Is the body still warm?”_

“I don’t have time for games, and you know it. The document, is it real?”

_“One hundred percent, Samsquatch. I know a guy who knows a guy who owes me a favor or two, and he couldn’t find a damned thing about this so-called wedding in Vegas last weekend or any other time in the last five years. Kali even pulled a few strings up in Denver and got zilch for her efforts, so either our boys did it under assumed identities, or…”_

“Or they’re not really married.” Sam pushes out a harsh puff of air and runs a hand through his hair while again studying the couple in question. Cas is juggling the cardboard cups in his hands, and Dean swoops in to steady him right as one of the bags slips down Cas’s forearm and causes the whole bunch to jostle dangerously. Cas meets the move with a shy smile that Dean returns, and Sam’s brows pull together as Dean’s fingers linger on Cas’s jacket. “So, what?” he asks. “They invented the story? Why?”

_“Dunno yet, but that kiss you missed the other night? That’s what tipped Kali off. Even for newlyweds, it was way too hot for an established relationship.”_

“They were acting pretty nervous when we got there,” Sam admits carefully.

 _“Exactly. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re not even dating yet, but you know as well as I do that they’ve been in love for forever, and I think it’s time we do something about all this dancing around before someone winds up getting hurt.”_ Gabriel’s voice deepens here, and while the man is often a clown, he’s never once joked about his little brother’s well-being. _“I like Dean, but if he breaks Cas’s heart—”_

Ahead, Dean’s searching for Sam in the crowd. He needs to wrap this up quickly. “I know. How can I help?”

There’s a pause on the other end, and Sam’ clenches his fingers around the phone, stifling the urge to shove it in his pocket when Dean’s face finds his and scrunches in confusion. _“…You’re in?”_

“Yes,” Sam hisses as the others close in. “Whatever you need. I’ll work on them from this end and text you the details, okay? I’ve gotta go.”

“Who’s on the phone?” Dean asks after he’s hung up.

“Who?” Sam automatically replies. “Oh, just the office tying up a few last minute details on this case I’m handling remotely.”

“You’re working this week? Dude, that should be illegal.”

“Yeah, well, not everybody can take off for a week at a time. Some of us have bosses to answer to.”

“If you owned your own firm you could be your own—”

Sam rolls his eyes as he cuts off the long-standing argument before it can take hold. _“No.”_

Pursing his lips, Dean slowly raises his coffee to his mouth and takes a long drag while maintaining his glare, and then, after Cas pointedly clears his throat, Dean shrugs and pulls Katie on down the sidewalk while she skips across the cracks. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s see if we can’t find a candy shop around here.”  
_____________

In the days following what Castiel will henceforth describe as The Kiss to End All Kisses, things get…weird.

He and Dean danced around each other at the Roadhouse and again when they returned to his parents’ pool house. They filled the gulf between themselves with stilted small talk and forced smiles, and the whole time, fear—all consuming, muscle clenching, stomach turning—sang through Castiel’s veins keeping him in an eternal state of confusion. Had he reacted the wrong way when Dean pulled him in? Was he too enthusiastic? Not enthusiastic enough to sell their story? Did he make Dean uncomfortable? Did Dean also experience the heat that radiated from their mouths, or was he disgusted and horrified at the prospect of possibly repeating the experience?

Had Castiel ruined everything?

They didn’t talk about it, but by not talking about it, The Kiss to End All Kisses became the only thing between them. It was always there, seated at the table while they sipped their coffee, lurking in the shadows at Mary’s, dancing giddily when their eyes met over dinner, and squeezed between their cold backs as they faced away from each other at night. By not talking about it, they gave it power to grow until it laced every interaction they had with breath stealing, speech stuttering, hand shaking awkwardness that didn’t exist in their relationship before that night, that never had, not even after their alcohol-soaked moments of weakness. And now, in Lawrence’s downtown shopping district, The Kiss to End All Kisses was about to swallow Castiel whole.

They’d decided to meet up with Sam and Katie for a little last minute shopping, and while their respective family members had been enough to buffer their interactions before now, something had changed. Be it by fate or chance, Castiel kept finding himself chest to chest with his friend and pseudo husband. While perusing truffles at the candy shop, he turned to ask Katie if she preferred caramel or cherry stuffed chocolates only to find Dean standing there instead. Before that, as he’d attempted to pass their hot drinks around, he’d jumped and caused a bag to drop from his elbow to his wrist, and Dean’d swooped in to save the day by moving in to steady him. Now, Castiel is trying to maintain some physical distance from the man without it being obvious, but there’s only so much room in the cramped antique store’s aisles, and _somehow he keeps meeting him around every freaking turn._

Stifling a frustrated sigh, Castiel grits his way through a polite smile as Dean stumbles to a stop. Confusion flits across the other man’s features for a moment before Dean mirrors his expression and takes a halting step backwards into a shelving unit, and as various books threaten to come crashing down in a wave of dust and leather and cloth, a low curse breaks through the chaos. The words make something snap inside Castiel, and he hurries forward to help Dean steady the shelf.

“Careful,” he mutters when the wood seems secure enough.

Dean nods once and glances over, the smile on his lips short-lived when he meets Castiel’s gaze. “Uh, thanks for the help.”

Castiel maintains the eye contact for a moment, unable to _not_ stare at Dean’s delicate features, especially after knowing what those lips are capable of. The thought steals all the moisture from his throat, so he swallows heavily before saying, “Of course.”

“Right.”

Oh, for the days when he actually knew how to act around the man. What he wouldn’t give to be back to arguing over the tv remote and sharing bad takeout…

As if reading his mind—which Castiel wouldn’t doubt given their history—Dean licks his lips and glances shyly down at where their hands are still resting inches apart on the shelf. “Cas, I think we should talk.”

Six words shouldn’t be enough to bring a man to his knees, but those would have easily managed it had it not been for the wood under Castiel’s fingers. He squeezes it so hard his skin blanches and the bones of his wrist clench painfully. Through his panic, Castiel manages a weak, “Okay.”

“Look, I just, I-I know that the other night was, uh, well, it—” Dean blows out a breath and glances around. “This isn’t really the best place to have this conversation, but I need you—I need to _know_ that we’re okay.” Slowly, hesitantly, Dean brings his gaze back up to meet Castiel’s, and his voice nearly squeaks with how low it is. “Are we okay?”

Those three words are overwhelming, and at hearing them, Castiel _does_ sag a bit before blinking rapidly to clear the sudden moisture from his eyes. “Yes,” he whispers, grinning like an idiot. “We’re okay.”

“Good,” Dean breathes—and Castiel definitely won’t mention or forget the way Dean is also blinking back tears. “That-that’s good. That’s real good, Cas.”

Dean cups Castiel’s face with one hand for a moment before lightly tapping his cheek with the other, and then he’s moving away from the shelf with an ease that hasn’t been in his gait since they walked into the Roadhouse, and Castiel watches him steal Katie away from her dad and throw the girl over his shoulder while Sam releases a long-suffering sigh and chases after the two, and for the first time since Jo pointed out that God forsaken poison hanging over their booth, Castiel can breathe again.

And he does. He breathes in the cool air of the street, drifting snowflakes intermingling with wool coats and laughter, and he allows himself a moment to tilt his head back and close his eyes, to _feel_ , and—

“Cas!”

Castiel opens his eyes and raises a brow at Dean. “What have I told you about savoring the moment?”

Dean’s expression blanks, and he swallows hard before recovering. “Not cool,” he mutters, turning on his heel.

Castiel’s lips curl, and he shakes his head fondly before following in his friend’s wake.  
_____________

Dean is _so_ over these freaking dinners.

Barely suppressing an eyeroll at another one of Michael’s stories, he shovels a forkful of alfredo into his mouth and quietly moans around the taste. Not too thick or thin, the sauce is freaking perfect, and Dean quickly follows the bite with another. Beside him, Cas’s hand tightens around his fork, and Dean squints at the subtle motion.

_The hell is that about?_

Knowing Cas, it could only be one of two things. Either he’s embarrassed by Dean’s lack of formal manners—unlikely seeing as Dean made an absolute fool of himself over the prime rib last night just to watch Naomi clutch her pearls in shock—or it was the moan which, based on Dean’s memory of that kiss they shared…yeah. That one’s going into the “Definitely Maybe” column.

Throwing caution to the wind—partly because of the amount of wine Bartholomew keeps pouring and also because he’s bored as fuck—Dean decides to test that theory.

He starts innocently, draping his arm over the back of Cas’s chair and idly stroking his jacket-covered shoulder with his thumb, and Cas casts a brief smile his way before redirecting his attention to the conversation at hand. Next, Dean allows his fingers to slip up to Cas’s collar, and with the first bit of skin on skin contact, Cas’s muscles tense almost imperceptibly under his hand before relaxing.

Interesting.

Dean swallows a bit of water before twisting one of Cas’s short curls around his fingertips. Cas finds a sudden and intense interest in his food then, though his face twists with confusion, and it only serves to make Dean want to smooth those wrinkles away which should be weird, but…isn’t. And _that_ is weird.

“Dean? What do you think?”

Dean realizes a second too late he’s been caught staring at his friend as Kali is raising her eyebrows and smirking. “Sorry, what?”

“Would you and Cas like to come with us?” she asks. “On a walk?”

“Uh.” He blinks at Cas who nods. “Sure?”

Kali smiles at him—a rarity for the usually severe woman unless it’s being directed at her husband—and links her free hand with Gabe’s. “Great! We’ll meet you by the fountain after we’ve had a chance to bundle up.”

The conversation turns to Gabriel’s bakery then, and Dean tucks into his food while mulling over his next move, and it’s when he’s finally decided on dropping his hand to Cas’s knee that Cas runs his own hand tantalizingly down Dean’s back. Dean’s hand remains tense, almost unnaturally still, as Cas’s fingers drift down to the dip in his spine. They hesitate only a moment at the top of Dean’s pants, and then they return to his shoulder blades before making the circuit all over again.

On the rare occasions Dean’s past “relationships” lasted longer than the hour or so it took to hook up, the teasing would be a promise of things to come while they disentangled themselves from the public eye (except for the few times he managed to get freaky covertly, but that’s a whole other ballgame), but with Cas it can’t be. Sure, Dean’d been playing with him only moments before just to see if he could get a reaction out of the guy because watching him squirm in the grocery store had been all kinds of fun, but he hadn’t taken it that far and honestly hadn’t intended to do anything that wasn’t socially appropriate or whatever. It’s not like he was about to grab Cas’s di— _The FUCK?_

Cas’s mouth is curved upwards just a hair as his eyes cut toward Dean, and if the way his fingertip just slipped under Dean’s waistband is any indication AT ALL, Cas doesn’t have any qualms about being polite.

_Game on, angel._

His left hand becomes occupied with spearing the perfect twirl of alfredo, but his right…Dean’s right hand is slowly but steadily inching its way up his friend’s thigh, his nails scratching lightly at the inseam on the way. The move makes Cas’s eyes flash before a look of determination crosses his features, and he flicks Dean’s belt lightly before diving in. 

Soon the two men are locked in a battle of sexy chicken, Cas’s fingers dipping a bit lower beneath Dean’s jeans for every inch he nears Cas’s crotch. Neither seems willing to back out, but then, Cas has always been competitive and Dean’s never known the meaning of the word “quit,” so that’s not entirely unsurprising. His fingers brush the junction of Cas’s groin and thighs, and Cas’s eyes darken.

_“Gabriel Chase Novak!”_

Naomi’s shrill voice shoots through the air like a dagger, and Dean tears his eyes off the blue-eyed fiend beside him. Across the table, a flustered Gabe rips his hand out of Kali’s lap while Kali makes a mad dash for her water glass with one hand and covertly smooths her skirt with the other. Naomi is staring daggers at the couple as they attempt to right themselves, and when Gabe has to lean back in order to fasten his belt buckle Dean’s not entirely sure Naomi won’t hurl her knife at her middle child’s skull. Meanwhile, Rachel and Anna are whispering at the other end of the table—Anna no doubt attempting to steer her curious child into a different topic of discussion before she’s forced to answer some difficult and really freaking awkward questions that make Dean glad he doesn’t have to endure that trial—and Michael and Chuck wear similar glares of disgust.

“And I believe _that_ ,” Gabriel says with a smirk, “is our cue to leave. Sweetheart?”

Kali accepts his outstretched hand and stands while thanking Naomi for the “lovely dinner” before practically dragging her husband from the room. He all but runs behind her, and as they enter the hall there’s a resounding _slap_ followed by a squeal and the thunder of footsteps up the stairs.

“Honestly,” Naomi says, a hand laid delicately across her chest. “I don’t know where we went wrong with that boy. Michael turned out perfect, but the other two?” She sighs and shakes her head as if Cas isn’t sitting mere feet away. “I can’t figure it out.”

Forgetting how close he is to a particularly sensitive area, Dean squeezes Cas’s thigh in solidarity, but he’s soon reminded of it when his friend presses the pad of his index finger to the space right on top of Dean’s tailbone. He sucks in a breath as Cas withdraws his hand and decides to squeeze one more time before raising his eyebrows at the guy.

_Jesus._

The rest of dinner passes without fanfare, much like it had at first, and soon they’re heading back to the pool house to layer up before meeting the newlyweds.

“You’re such a dork,” Dean laughs as they pull their jackets on at the door.

Cas just keeps wiggling his fingers into his gloves. Then, glancing Dean’s way out of the corner of his eye, he says, “Perhaps, but you’ll be eating your words when your fingers go numb.”

“Nah, that’s what those deep pockets of yours are for.”

“Of course.” Cas rolls his eyes. “I live to serve your lack of preparedness.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve never once forgotten to have plenty of condoms and lube on hand. Hell,” Dean spreads his arms wide and grins, “I’m practically a Boy Scout, dude.” It’s probably the way the security light washes across Cas’s face as they head into the night, but it looks like he might be blushing, so Dean throws an arm around his friend’s shoulders and leans in close to add, “You never know what I’m packing.”

Cas snorts but slips his arm around Dean’s middle and pulls him forward. “Unfortunately, I’ve seen your dick, Dean, and I must say, you pack exceedingly light.”

Dean stops in his tracks, gasping loudly and pointing at Cas. “You take that back.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“You know I’m a grower not a shower!”

“How could I possibly know that?” Tilting his head, Cas narrows his eyes, but his smile gives him away. He’s baiting Dean, and dammit, Dean’s just torn up enough to take it. 

_“Arkansas.”_

Cas’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click.

It was their senior year of high school, and on the intended skip day, instead of lounging at home or partying somewhere, the two jumped in Baby and headed a few hundred miles south to Hot Springs National Park to try out one of the many bath houses in the nearby town, and then, thanks to a mix up where the spa booked them as a couple and went overboard with the aromatherapy, both teens ended up in a bath with raging hard-ons. It was awkward as fuck, but luckily Cas offered up the essential oils as the culprit, and Dean’s never questioned him or spoken about the incident since. Until now, that is.

“Arkansas?” Cas asks after a moment.

Dean nods. “Yep. Arkansas. And that was before I was, you know, fully developed or whatever.”

Cas opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is gets stuck in his throat, and he quickly glances away. “I wonder if they’re ready yet,” he mumbles before swallowing.

Dean sees the comment for the subject change it is and shrugs. “Hope so. Why’d we agree to this again?”

“Because you wanted to appear as though you hadn’t gotten caught teasing me at the dinner table.”

“Dick.”

“Ass.”

Dean sticks his tongue out at Cas and is rewarded with a deep chuckle that definitely doesn’t chase the cold from his skin. “Caught in the act, huh?” Dean asks once they meet up with the newlyweds.

Gabriel just shrugs, his hands in his pockets but with one arm loose enough that Kali can hug it. “Eh, it was worth it. You know how it is.”

_No._

_Kinda._

_Does it count if you don’t intend to follow through?_

“Oh, totally, dude.”

Kali’s eyes narrow slightly, but Dean can’t tell for the life of him what’s on her mind, and he doesn’t have long to figure it out because she’s turning toward the massive garden and raising an eyebrow. “Shall we?”

“So,” Cas says, “how are things in the main house?”

Kali snorts a derisive laugh and shakes her head, her dark hair swaying slightly and sticking to her mouth. Frowning, she pulls the piece away and brushes it over her shoulder. “Unbearable. I understand why you maintain as little contact as possible with your parents.”

“Jeez, that bad?” Dean asks. He knows the Novaks aren’t his biggest fans, but he thought maybe they’d go easier on Kali.

“Try debating theology with them and see how far _you_ get.”

Beside her, Gabe groans and hangs his head back. “God! Talk about awkward. I thought that vein in Mom’s forehead was gonna pop! But then you shut Michael down so easy…” He trails off and stares at his wife with nothing short of awe. “Absolutely beautiful, babe.”

“Your brother deserves to have his balls roasted on a spit,” Kali declares. “I’m just sorry I didn’t have a lighter handy.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Dean mutters.

Cas has grown quiet, and when Dean looks over, he’s staring at the ground as they walk, so Dean reaches out and pulls Cas’s hand into his, threading their fingers together and running his thumb lightly over Cas’s index. It earns him a small smile in thanks, and that pesky warmth is back in Dean’s chest again.

“Enough about those losers.” Gabe claps his hands together. “How’s life in the big D?”

Dean makes a choking sound—which was definitely the wrong move based on how big Gabriel’s grinning at him, the bastard—but Cas saves him. “ _Denver_ is fine,” he says pointedly, making his older brother pout. “You’d enjoy it.”

“Lots of hungry college kids,” Dean adds.

“Hell, we’ve got plenty of those here. Why do you think I started a late shift at the bakery, huh? They go nuts for cheap sweets, and I run a coffee special during finals.”

Kali nudges him lightly. “He’s done quite well, although it helps that none of the other cafés stay open past three.”

“It’s not my fault they’re sleeping on cold hard cash.”

“You have a point,” Cas says. “But I still think you’d find Denver more than welcoming. When are you going to visit? We’d love to have you.”

He says it so casually, like he and Dean wouldn’t have to pretend they’re married in their own house while Gabe and Kali visited, like he hasn’t even considered that fact, like it’s something he says all the time, but come to think of it, he does. Cas has been trying to get Gabriel to come out to Colorado for years using that exact invitation, but he’s always been turned down because of the bakery. Looking back, Dean can see how couple-y the invite is, and it hits him again how no one has been even a little surprised by his supposed marriage to Cas. It almost makes him wanna drop Cas’s hand and put a little distance between them.

Almost.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he glances up as a few fresh snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds, and soon everyone’s gaze is drawn upward. Kali reaches out a gloved hand and smiles softly when she manages to catch a few flakes, and Gabriel completely ruins the moment by licking it from her hand. The two are drawn into a playful game of chase around a nearby bench, and they continue on into the night until their laughter is mere background noise in the otherwise silent evening.

But Dean’s not watching them or the snow anymore.

He’s caught up in what can only be described as surreal, a moment where he’s rendered speechless by the beauty in front of him. It’s something he’s only experienced a few times, once when he let Sam talk him into hiking to the top of a mountain trail and looking out over a crystal clear lake that perfectly reflected the sky, another time while peering down at a newborn Katie bundled up in his arms, and on a road trip with Cas when they were crossing the desert right at sunset and the light washed everything in pinks and oranges and reds and Cas grinned at him from the passenger seat, and now.

Cas is still watching the snow, neck arched and a barely there curve to his lips while his eyes take in the swirling white above. Several flakes stand out against his thick, black hair. One gets stuck in Cas’s eyelashes, and Dean has the sudden urge to thumb it away before Cas blinks and turns his smile on him, and that—Jesus Christ. His heart thunders away, pounding a beat in his chest and ears, and Dean’s not sure what this is or why, and even though the very idea terrifies him, he doesn’t want the feeling to go away. He wants to bundle it up and place it gently in the box under his bed for safekeeping so he can pull it out on a rainy day. He wants to record it and blast it from Baby’s speakers while doing eighty on a two-lane. He wants to wrap it in the finest tissue paper and tie an elaborate bow around it and stick it under the tree so Cas can open it on Christmas morning. He wants—

He just _wants_.

It’s not a conscious decision that leads to him stepping forward like he does, but somehow Dean finds himself thumping chests with Cas and inhaling the breath that’s punched out of his friend when he pulls him in. Cas’s fingers circle around Dean’s biceps in a bruising grip, and he half expects the dude to shove him away, but Cas is pulling him closer and moving his lips against— _Fuck._ Cas’s tongue slips and slides against Dean’s, licking deep into his mouth and twisting, and Cas is walking him back until Dean’s spine is jammed against one of the lampposts dotting the garden, and nothing about this should feel as right as it does, but Dean can’t stop himself. Something’s given way inside him, and it’s like using a broken coffee cup to scoop water out of a sinking ship. He can’t go back to how he was, not like this, not while his best friend is grinding against him and cupping his jaw and making him question everything he’s ever thought about himself.

Later, Dean will Google the term “ethereal” and wonder why there isn’t a picture of Cas at the top of the search results, but for now he’s going to pull his friend closer and bask in the warmth of his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, the holidays left little writing time, but now that the chapter is here...what'd you think? Are we excited?!


	9. Chapter 9

It all happens very suddenly.

One second Castiel is watching the snow fall, and the next he’s experiencing something he didn’t even know he wanted.

Until now.

Castiel gasps and uses Dean’s arms both to steady himself and to make sure that this is real, that it’s actually happening and not an elaborate daydream stemming from a particularly bad fall on a patch of ice, but he doesn’t wake up to the others staring down at him—not that waking up with Dean hovering over him would be a bad thing—and he’s not in a hospital bed, so it must be real, and if it is, well, Castiel is only human, and it feels better than anything else he’s encountered in this lifetime, so he holds on, hugging Dean to his chest and returning the kiss. Dean releases a surprised sound from the back of his throat, and Castiel greedily swallows it down as his brain short-circuits.

On instinct, he walks Dean back into a nearby lamppost and pins him there with his hips so he can get his hands on Dean’s stubbled cheeks and tilt his head _just_ how he wants it to get a little deeper, chasing this yearning, this taste, this essence he’s yet to fully experience. Teeth clash as Dean attempts to reassert his dominance, but Castiel doesn’t give in easily. Just like at dinner earlier, when he’d had zero intention of taking things all the way, he coaxes Dean into submission and grins when the other man finally lets go because this, Castiel is good at. _This is what he does._

He begins mouthing at the bolt of Dean’s jaw, and it’s the break from hot and heavy and rushed to languid sweeps of his tongue against the other man’s skin that allows his brain the oxygen it needs to begin rebooting. Conscious thought comes back slowly, and Castiel _hates_ knowing he needs to back away before this goes too far. He doesn’t know why Dean initiated this, and he’s never had an actual relationship before, but he wants this—whatever _this_ is or could be if that’s what Dean is pushing for here—to be different, so he presses one last lingering kiss to Dean’s mouth and stops.

“Dean,” Castiel mumbles, his lips never fully leaving his best friend’s until after the name is out.

Dean blinks and stares at him while his chest heaves and the flush ebbs from his cheeks. Gaze flickering down, Castiel’s breath hitches when he sees Dean’s kiss-swollen mouth, lips still shining, and it takes everything he has not to carry Dean back to the pool house and take him apart, but somehow—though the exact process remains a mystery—Castiel summons enough strength to instead drag his thumb lightly over Dean’s bottom lip.

“Cas?”

It’s barely a sigh, a raspy breath in the space between them, but there’s a lilt to his voice that conveys everything Castiel is seeing reflected in Dean’s eyes.

Fear.

Longing.

_Hope._

“Dean, I—I want you.” There’s a sharp inhale, and Castiel isn’t sure if it came from himself or Dean, but he plows on, fisting his hands in the front of Dean’s coat and choking on his words. “I don’t know how to do this, but I want to try. I want to try…with you.”

Dean swallows and nods, and Castiel has to blink away the moisture in his eyes so he can watch the myriad of emotions flit across Dean’s face. “Are you sure?” Dean rasps. “I’m not—I’m not worth it, Cas. I’m nothing.”

Something fierce burns in his chest then, overtaking everything and filling him with a righteous fury, and Castiel cups Dean’s jaw again and looks him dead in the eye. “You’re _everything_ ,” he growls. “I’ve never wanted to have more with anyone else, but you—” Castiel huffs, rolling his lips and glancing up at Dean. “I think I’ve never wanted more because I always wanted you.”

“You’ve seen how I am, man. I don’t know how to take it slow or be monogamous, and even if I did, I’d find a way to fuck it up anyway. I want this, too, but I—"

“I’ve seen you at your worst,” Castiel reminds him with a smirk. Dean laughs a little and ducks his head, so Castiel gently tips his chin back up. “And it doesn’t scare me because I know you, Dean. You’ve never wanted a commitment, and you’ve always been honest about that with any partner you’ve had, so if you’re really willing to change that now, I’ll trust you. If anything, I’m concerned I may not live up to your standards, but if you’ll have me, I’d like to see if we can figure this out together.” 

“I’m scared.”

“Me, too.”

Dean’s still wide-eyed, but he must find something steady in Castiel’s gaze because he grabs a fistful of Castiel’s jacket right over his heart and shakes the fabric. “Okay.”

It shouldn’t feel as wonderful as it does, but Castiel thinks he’ll likely replay that word in his memories for many years to come.

“Okay.”  
_____________

Gabriel and Kali have mysteriously disappeared, so Dean and Cas make the trek back to the pool house alone.

He’s still scared out of his freaking skull, replaying their conversation over and over in his head, and Cas is acting like he’s not sure what to do next once they’re back in the room and staring at the bed like a couple of nervous teens, so Dean takes a breath and reaches across the space between them to give Cas’s hand a gentle squeeze. Grinning, he jokes, “You a top or bottom?”

It does the trick, as Cas huffs a laugh down at the floor and pulls Dean to his chest. His arms wind around Dean’s middle, and it’s warm there, wrapped up in the man, and Dean can’t help but wonder why he’s never tried this. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Seeing how relationships are supposed to be built on honesty or some shit, yeah.” He raises his chin and looks down his nose before adopting a shitty British accent. “I think I’m entitled.”

He’s rewarded with a gummy smile, and soon they’re hanging on to each other and laughing. It’s enough to break the tension in the air, and Cas hums softly before grazing Dean’s cheek with the back of his fingers on his way to the bathroom.

They change quickly, both opting to sleep in their underwear and tees, and then Cas slides into bed beside him, and Dean would be lying if he said it didn’t feel like something they’d done a thousand times before. After spending long moments tracing the lines of each other’s faces, Cas pulls Dean in and resumes kissing the life out of him, albeit much slower than he had outside.

“Slow,” Cas breathes after Dean attempts to wriggle out of his underwear. He’s boxed in by Cas’s torso and limbs, but he’s never felt safer.

Dean nips Cas’s jaw in defiance but brings his hands back to rest on Cas’s sides. “You’re no fun,” he grumbles.

“I assure you—” Cas stops to grind down against Dean’s crotch, and Dean can’t help the string of swears he lets loose in response because damn it all to fucking _hell_ , Cas is gonna be the death of him. “I can be _extremely_ fun.”

“Then why—”

Cas pulls back and just stares at Dean, his fingertips cradling Dean’s features like he’s something precious, something to be protected and revered, and it’s so unlike anything he’s ever seen from anyone else he’s shared a bed—or backseat, or closet, or fucking booth—with that Dean’s caught off guard for a moment, and he lets his walls come down and allows himself to hear what Cas says. “Because,” Cas murmurs, “you’re different than the rest, and when we have sex, I want it to be different, too. I can’t take back all the years I’ve wasted not realizing what was in front of me, but going forward I can treat you with the respect you deserve.” He inhales, and his dark lashes cast long shadows over his cheekbones in the low lamp light as he closes his eyes. “I know you, Dean, but I want to know us before we go there.”

“Makes sense.” Cas huffs a laugh and buries his face in Dean’s neck, nosing at his skin and sending tingles all the way to Dean’s toes, but something nags at Dean’s brain, and he can’t help the thought that makes its way out of his mouth. “What if I’m not what you want though? What if we do this and it doesn’t work out? What’ll happen to us?”

Cas opens his mouth to reply but seems to be at a loss for words himself as his lips press together.

Dean threads their fingers together on the pillow and shakes his head. “I can’t lose you, angel.”

“Then you won’t.”

It’s a lie. They both know it. Whatever happens next, their friendship has been forever changed, and they’ll never be able to get back to where they were. The best case scenario is that they end things peacefully and occasionally exchange emails and Christmas cards, but they won’t be friends. Not really.

The potential loss stokes the fire in his belly, and Dean surges up and kisses Cas with renewed vigor, intent on making the most of the moment, and hooks his ankles around Cas’s hips. Whatever else is going on in Cas’s head, he seems to get the message. He pulls Dean’s hands above his head and pins them there with a single hand wrapped around his wrists before charting a path from Dean’s clavicle to his jaw with nothing but his mouth, and later, while they catch their breath and their underwear stick uncomfortably to their groins, Dean presses a kiss to Cas’s sweat-slick temple and prays for the impossible.  
_____________

Making their way up the sidewalk, Sam points out the playground where he and his brother had spent so many hours after school. “There,” he tells Eileen, gesturing to the tunnel stretching between the two platforms. “That’s where we’re supposed to meet him.”

“Isn’t this a little…creepy?” Eileen asks. “What normal adults hang out on playgrounds at night?”

“Apparently us,” Sam laughs. Eileen shakes her head, and her hair falls over her face, but he can still see the smile concealed behind the brunette curtain. All these years together, and he still can’t believe that _he_ can make _her_ smile like that.

Sam lifts the latch on the gate and holds it open for Eileen to pass through before putting a gentle hand on her lower back while they approach the play set. Once they’re to the tunnel, Sam casts a quick glance around, eyeing the darker reaches of the playground with no small amount of caution. It’s not that he thinks a madman is going to come running out of the shadows and attack them, or that Eileen couldn’t defend herself _and_ him from such an attack—before Katie came along, she taught self-defense classes at the local gym, and she’s put him on his ass more times than he can count—but his instincts scream for him to cover all his bases just in case. It’s irrational, sure, and yet he can’t help but reach out and link his hand with hers, and just like that, his mind clears.

“’You should never underestimate the predictability of stupidity.’”

 _Speaking of madmen…_ Sam whirls around in time to see Gabriel’s silhouette tilt his head back and blow out a long stream of smoke into the air. The security light illuminates the cloud as it dissipates, and Sam frowns. “You called us out here to quote movies?”

“Of course not,” Gabriel scoffs. Inclining his head to Eileen in greeting, he takes off his hat—a fedora, Sam realizes with an inward groan—and flashes what he probably thinks is a charming smile that only succeeds to make Eileen more suspicious of him. “I told you I have information, and I meant it.”

“So?” Eileen says after a weighted silence in which Gabriel holds his cigarette to his lips. “Spi—Is that a _candy_ cigarette?”

Of fucking course.

Snatching the stick from Gabriel’s lips, Sam gives it a brief look of disgust before tossing it away. “Seriously? We came all this way in the middle of the night, and _this_ is what we get? You, pretending your breath is cigarette smoke?”

“They kissed.”

Sam hesitates, raising his eyebrows. “Dean and Cas?”

“No, the Muppets.” Gabriel rolls his eyes and heaves a dramatic sigh while tucking his hands into his pockets. “Yes! Kali and I set the mood and disappeared, and the two lovebirds were sucking face in no time. You’re welcome.”

Eileen acknowledges the confirmation with a nod, but she’s still in interrogation mode. “So, are they together now, or do we still have work to do?”

“Dunno. They went back to their room together, and Kali stayed behind to do a random walk by later to see if she hears anything, uh, _interesting_.”

The couple shares a look, and Eileen shrugs and signs, _‘What do you think?’_

 _‘It’s something,_ ’ Sam replies. _‘More than I expected at this point.’_ Taking a step forward, Sam squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. “We’ve got something brewing for tomorrow night, so I’ll let you know if anything happens there. Make sure you keep an eye on them and do the same, okay?” Gabriel nods his assent, and Sam is just about to turn away when a thought occurs to him. “By the way, why didn’t you tell me they kissed over the phone? What was the point?”

“The aesthetic, duh.” Gabriel puts another candy cigarette between his teeth and grins before giving a small salute. “You kids enjoy the rest of your walk now.”

“Did he just do us a favor?” Eileen asks once Gabriel’s disappeared into the night.

“Yeah,” Sam huffs glancing down at his watch. They’ve still got an hour before they need to be back. “I think he did. What do you want to do now?”

Eileen purses her lips and smiles coyly up at him. “I can think of a few things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have been so wonderful with your feedback that I want to take a second to express my gratitude to you. I didn't expect half the attention this story has gotten, so it's quite literally blowing my mind to see how much you love it. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
> 
> So, what are your thoughts regarding this chapter? I can't wait to find out!


	10. Chapter 10

Christmas Eve, as it just so happens, is _really fucking cold._

Burrowing deeper into the thick comforter, Dean presses his icy feet against the warm legs beside him and slips his arm around their middle. He must’ve gotten drunk and hooked up the night before because he doesn’t remember anything but that dream about Cas in the snow, and damn, what a dream it was. Sure, it started off a little rocky what with having to listen to Michael drone on and on about that time he met the Idiot in Chief and their dealings with Dick Roman, but then Cas shoved Dean up against that pole, and they came back to the room and indulged in some heavy petting that—

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes pop open in disbelief, and he slowly raises his head to stare at the face of the man he’s currently using as his own personal space heater. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters, eyes tracing the lines of Cas’s face as he smiles. The crinkles etched into his skin are making Dean’s heart tap dance, and he squeezes the other man’s middle to ground himself. “I thought I dreamed it.”

As soon as the words are out, Cas’s smile disappears, and he swallows. “Do you regret…this?”

“No! No, dude, I—” Dean throws his leg over Cas’s waist and straddles his lap—and woo buddy, is that a lot of morning wood for one man to carry around—before pinning his shoulders in place. “Last night was great, Cas. Really. I just didn’t think it’d actually happened. Too good to be true, and all that.”

“Yes, I understand that concept quite well.” Cas moves slow, reaching up to cup Dean’s cheek in one big hand, and Dean may or may not close his eyes at the touch. Fuck if he’s telling anyone about it if he does. It’s not their business. Cas doesn’t seem to mind anyway, just smiles that soft little grin of his and pulls Dean in for a lazy kiss. “Plans,” Cas mumbles after Dean has become little more than a wet noodle. Seriously, the dude can kiss when he’s plastered, but this sober shit is borderline ridiculous. What was he, a porn star in another life? Jesus.

“Plans?”

“Mmm. Christmas Eve…We’re supposed to be at your mother’s.”

“And?”

“ _And_ ,” Cas pauses to stretch out for his phone and flips it around for Dean to see, “we have to be there in an hour. That means we should hurry if we intend to arrive on time.”

Dean tries to play it off, but he can’t deny wanting to get some more family time in before they all go their separate ways in a few days. Who knows how long it’ll be before they’re all together again? “Eh, let ‘em wait. They’ll survive.”

Like always, Cas reads him like a book. He shakes his head and easily pulls Dean off his hips before rolling out of bed. When he stands he pulls his underwear away from his crotch with a wince, and Dean wrinkles his nose and laughs. “Clean up should be a priority next time,” Cas grumbles.

“Or we can multitask.”

“Shower sex?”

“Nah, man. That shit’s complicated,” Dean explains, “but shower _foreplay,_ on the other hand, is not.”

Cas’s lips twitch in amusement, and he sweeps his arm out toward the bathroom. “Lead the way.”  
_____________

“Uncle Dee!”

Castiel barely has enough time to dodge out of the way before the rambunctious child bowls him over on her way to Dean. The other man squats in the doorway and opens his arms wide as she hits him full tilt, and they land in a heap of giggles before Katie pushes up on her forearms and pokes Dean’s chest accusingly. 

“You didn’t come see me last night,” she says.

“I know, Katie Bug. Your Uncle Cas and I had to visit with his family for a change.”

“But I wanted to see you!”

“Hey, you’re too old to pout,” Dean reminds her, and it’s hilarious to see him trying to be serious when he’s being pinned by a lanky four-year-old, but the child listens to him anyway. Katie nods, but her lips remain pressed together in defiance. “We can’t be here all the time, kiddo. If we could, we would, but it’s only fair that we spend some time with Uncle Cas’s family, too.”

She fiddles with the buttons on Dean’s shirt, eyes downcast as she continues making her case. “Well, maybe they could come here, and we could all play together. They can play with my dolls but not my kitchen set because they might mess it up.”

“But what if they don’t like dolls?”

“Well, they can find something else to play with or use their imagination or something! I don’t know!”

Chuckling, Dean wraps his arms around Katie and sits up, gently kissing her hair once they’re upright, and it’s as if Castiel’s whole body relaxes as he watches them interact some more. He knows he’s staring too much, and he knows he’s got the doe-eyed look about him, but he can’t help it. The warmth blooming in his chest feels too good to be embarrassed about. Still, he feels like a spectator in the moment and doesn’t want to intrude, so while the Winchester brothers chat amicably in the hall—Katie’s now perched on Dean’s hip and playing with the pockets on his canvas jacket like it’s her job, something Dean only encourages by hiding small toys and pieces of candy there whenever they’re visiting—Castiel backs away in search of one of the women to see if he can be put to work. 

As he enters the kitchen, Mary and Ellen are cackling about something, their wine glasses tipping dangerously as they hunch over the table, and old Christmas music crackles from the turntable in the corner. “You should’ve seen it!” Mary says, wiping her eyes. “Miss Betty was running as fast as her ninety-five year old frame could go, and she kept swinging her cane at him and yelling in German, and he started screaming for help, but everyone in the checkout line just stared. I mean, she had it under control, and I wasn’t about to step in and tell her she needed to let the cops handle it.”

Ellen’s wide-eyed, absorbing the details of a local shopkeeper hungrily. “What happened?”

“She made him clean the bathrooms and all the coolers.” Mary takes a sip of her drink and shrugs, but her eyes sparkle. “I went in a week later, and the kid had a job stocking shelves.”

“Mmm, I aspire to that level of greatness.”

“Right?! There’d be a lot less kids in jail if cops handled things the way grandmother’s do.”

“To Miss Betty,” Ellen says, holding her glass aloft. Mary clinks hers against it, and it’s as Ellen is reaching for a refill that she finally spies Castiel hovering in the corner. “Speaking of young bucks, how ya doing, Cas?”

“I’m well, thank you.” Both women smile at him, but they’re waiting expectantly, so Castiel rubs his hands together. “I came to see if I may be of assistance. If you’ll have me, of course.”

Mary hums thoughtfully and rolls her lips before snapping her fingers. “Actually, I have just the thing. Ellen, can you watch the food for a minute?”

And that’s how Castiel ends up on his knees in the attic, skyscrapers of decorations all around him. “I didn’t realize there was so much of it,” he mumbles, reaching out to flick a dried bit of packing tape hanging off the box in front of him.

Mary just laughs and shakes her head. “I know I usually have it ready for you boys by now, but I’m not as young as I used to be. This year’s been colder than normal, and it’s really started to mess with my arthritis.” Her mouth twists, and she puts her hands on her hips, glaring into space. “That made me sound like an old woman, didn’t it?”

Rather than touch _that_ subject, Castiel opts to focus on the task at hand, namely getting all this stuff outside without a certain little girl seeing. “There’s…a lot of boxes here. Are you sure it’s smart to move it while Katie is downstairs?”

“Way ahead of you, Cas. While I haven’t been able to move the boxes by myself, I have been able to slap a few labels on them.”

She points out one of the fresher pieces of duct tape on the side of a box, and Castiel can’t help but grin at her ingenuity. “Mary, have I mentioned lately that I love you?”

She feigns a thoughtful expression, tapping her chin with a finger. “Now that you mention it, no, you haven’t.”

Their laughter is interrupted by the ladder creaking, and then Dean’s head pops up through the hole in the floor. “What’re you guys doing up here?”

“Dean, I’m afraid it’s time you knew.” 

“Knew what?”

Castiel stands and clasps his hands in front of himself while ducking his head to hide his smile. “I’m leaving you for your mother.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Dean snorts while climbing the rest of the way up. “She can do way better than some nerdy little author, and you know it.”

“I don’t know. Cas is fairly attractive for his age,” Mary says.

Dean lets loose a bark of laughter and wraps his free arm around Castiel’s waist, leaning in to peck him on the cheek. “Now I know you’re lying.”

“Rude,” Castiel grumbles, only slightly offended.

Dean leans back, wide-eyed. “Let me finish! What I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, is that you’re not just ‘fairly attractive.’ You’re drop dead gorgeous, angel, and everyone knows it.”

_Oh._

“Gorgeous?” Castiel whispers, unable to hide the smile slowly stretching across his face or the blush creeping up his neck, but Dean’s also turning a beautiful shade of pink, so at least he isn’t alone. “Really?”

“Well, yeah. Obviously. I mean, look at you, dude.” Dean brushes his thumb against Castiel’s cheekbone, and it’s as though someone’s sucked all the air from Castiel’s lungs when Dean licks his lips before murmuring. “Gorgeous.”

Castiel sighs gently as Dean presses their lips together, and Dean nods once. “And damned tasty to boot.”

_“Dean.”_

Dean chuckles and swats Castiel’s ass playfully before backing away and looking over the various boxes. “So, what’s the plan here, Mom? Mom?”

Both men turn around in time to catch sight of Mary’s hair bobbing as she descends the ladder, and Castiel smiles softly at her stealthy escape. Mary Winchester is many things, and nearly all of them admirable in some form or another, but right now, Castiel is acutely thankful for her ability to sense what each of her boys needs.

Together, Dean and Castiel manage to carry all fourteen boxes of Christmas decorations down the ladder and out to the Impala and only get stopped by Katie twice, but once she’s assured the boxes contain nothing more than ratty sweatpants and tee shirts, she’s off to investigate something more interesting. Mary winks at Castiel as she steers the little girl away the second time, her grin full of mischief as she promises snow cream and cookies after they eat. It buys the men time to make a game plan for later, and Castiel maps out their Christmas light display on Dean’s neck while making Dean explain in detail how they’ll get to the roof later.

And they do, eventually, although it’s after a big lunch and sneaking kisses in the kitchen and opening presents where Jo and Ash bestow a way too big stocking full of lube and condoms upon the (supposed) newlyweds. Dean launches one of the travel sized bottles at Jo’s head as she dives behind her mother, and Ellen hooks her hand in the neck of the young woman’s sweater before scooping a piece of ice from her glass and slipping it down Jo’s back. Of course, then Jo shrieks and squirms, a hand reaching back to dislodge the offending cold.

Meanwhile, Katie remains utterly clueless as to the context of the erupting chaos around her. She and Sam have spread her new toys around the fireplace and play quietly with the various animals included in her little farm set. They rarely speak, opting primarily to sign back and forth, and a sudden warmth blooms in Castiel’s chest as he watches a member of the family’s newest generation masterfully communicate in an inclusive manner. Hope swells up then, choking Castiel with the thought that maybe in the future, when Katie and her peers grow up and begins taking office, the world will be a little more accommodating, a little more loving, and a little more peaceful.

Tolerance isn’t something Castiel has had much experience with. Growing up, his family and their friends routinely made derogatory remarks regarding celebrities and strangers they came across whose backgrounds or lifestyles didn’t mirror their own (never people they knew, mind you, because they’d never actually associate with someone labeled with the dreadful “Different” status). It never failed to make the pit inside Castiel threaten to swallow him whole. He knew he didn’t fit in when he was young, and when he finally had access to materials educating him about various sexualities and religions and such, he had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming whenever those around him automatically doomed those people straight to the fiery pits of Hell.

And when he first realized he wasn’t straight, that he was _Different_ , he panicked.  
_____________

Castiel came across the ad by accident, hadn’t even been researching LGBTQIA+ topics, but there it was, tucked between the back pages of a porn magazine and showcasing a nude man sandwiched between a voluptuous woman sucking on his earlobe and a ripped Adonis running his hand down the subject’s happy trail whilst attempting to probe the guy’s tonsils with his tongue. The image, emblazoned across the middle with the words, “BISEXUAL? SO ARE WE,” caused Castiel’s heart to pound, and he flicked his gaze over to his bedroom door to ensure once again that the lock was turned before palming his rising erection. He’d had…questionable boners in the past, but that was largely due to the influx of hormones in his teenage body, right? Everyone got hard throughout the day for no reason at all, and the locker room, where he’d shower and have to wash his penis and balls thus inducing elevated blood flow to the area, had to be a frequent place of hidden erections, didn’t it? He couldn’t be alone in this, could he? Dean certainly tented his towels on a frequent basis, and he was straight! Surely…

Curiosity got the better of him, so, one rare night when Dean had to pull a double shift at Harvelle’s, Castiel, finding himself alone and in possession of his own car without a passenger occupying the seat beside him, set out in search of a store three towns over that advertised straight and gay porn. He cruised through the square and into the fringier parts of town where liquor stores outnumbered churches and scantily clad women gestured suggestively as he passed. Castiel gripped the wheel a little tighter, eyes once more darting over to check the directions he’d hastily scrawled on the back of his calculus homework. He fought the urge to lock his doors knowing no matter how deeply his parents’ prejudices were ingrained in his system, he didn’t have to give in and judge the people around him based on where they lived and worked.

Eventually he saw the flashing sign up ahead and blew out a slow breath while shifting the car into park. “Just a peek,” Castiel muttered, adjusting his coat. He’d gone for a layered look beneath his trusty trenchcoat in the hopes the added materials would bulk up his frame and make him appear a bit larger than the scrawny underaged teenager he was. If it came right down to it, he could always flash his fake I.D., but that was just a backup plan, a fail-safe in case he couldn’t play his part convincingly.

 _I’m going to be sick._ Castiel closed his eyes against the neon glow of the OPEN sign and braced himself on the chipped metal railing leading up the walk, his throat clicking loudly as he fought to keep his stomach contents in the correct place. Not that there’d be much to come up if he did blow chunks. Once Dean called to let him know their plans for the evening had changed, Castiel’d found himself unable to stomach even a small snack due to the wave of nerves threatening to pull him under.

Pushing open the door, an electric bell in desperate need of a battery change buzzed loudly, and Castiel was immediately assaulted with the smells of plastic and rubber and lubricant. A bored sales associate straightening one of the shelves near the counter waved him in while her back was still turned, and Castiel caught a flash of black ink beneath her shirt before he made his way to one of the various magazine racks.

It took several minutes, but Castiel eventually managed to find a section dedicated to threesomes and from there parse out two whole magazines focusing on bisexuality. Plastic sleeves encased both to keep customers from reading the material in-store, so, cheeks inflamed and hands trembling, Castiel blindly reached for one and clenched his jaw all the way to the register, and if it became more difficult to swallow on the way, well, no one had to know.

“This it for you?” the woman asked, punching a few buttons on her machine and barely sparing him a glance.

Castiel resisted the urge to wipe the sweat beading on his temples as he caught sight of the various toys inside the glass case on the wall behind the woman and nodded. “Yes.”

Her fingers hesitated only a second before she bagged the magazine and put it on the counter. Then, catching his failed attempts to not look at the toys, she tilted her head and eyed him curiously. “You sure? Everything on the bottom three rows is on sale. We just got in a bunch of new plugs, so we’re trying to get rid of the older stuff.”

Later, Castiel would look back on his loose lips and be thankful for whatever made him speak his mind, but at the time he just wanted to die on the spot. “Plugs?”

“Mm-hmm.” She pushed her dark hair back over her shoulder and revealed a nametag with PAMELA written on it in purple marker. “They’re for anal play. Would you like to see one?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to start,” Castiel admitted.

“I thought you might say that.” Castiel’s eyes widened, and he stared at her open-mouthed for a moment before she smiled softly and rolled her eyes. “Look, kid, if you’re looking to do research, an adult bookstore isn’t the best way to go about it, but I tell you what, you be honest with me, and I’ll give you as much information as I can, okay?”

“I—I don’t—um—”

Pamela narrowed her eyes, but she was still smiling and hadn’t reached for the phone yet, so that had to be a good sign, right? “What are you, seventeen?” she asked softly.

Castiel dropped his head and whispered, “…Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

“Castiel.”

“And have you ever been with a man before, Castiel?”

 _I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry,_ Castiel chanted in his head. “No.” 

“But you want to be.”

“I’m not sure,” he muttered almost petulantly while kicking at a loose thread in the carpet.

“Not a question, sweetheart.” Pamela reached out and took his hand in hers before turning it over and running her thumbs over his open palm. She moved gently, her touch soothing something deep within him that Castiel hadn’t known existed, and he watched while she traced a few of the lines on his skin, lingering on one in particular. “You can’t get started with this,” Pamela declared after several long moments of silence. 

“I’m sorry?”

She was already tossing the magazine he’d yet to pay for under the register when she said, 

“That’s for people who actually know what they’re doing, and you, kid, don’t have a clue. Come on, I’ve got a few samples that’ll set you on the right path.”

An hour and one extremely long sermon about the ins and outs of bisexuality, safety, and explicit consent later, Castiel left Pamela standing on the curb outside her shop and headed home to test his new products.   
_____________

Cas’s fingers twitch in Dean’s grip, and he glances over to see his new boyfriend staring off into space while the party rages on. Dean gives Cas’s cool hand a little squeeze, frowning when it seems to shake the man out of whatever trance he’d slipped into, and he raises his eyebrow in question.

“It’s nothing,” Cas replies with a small smile. His reassurance falls flat, though, and so does his expression as soon as he realizes Dean isn’t falling for it.

Leaning closer, Dean lowers his voice to keep the others from overhearing. “What’s going on, angel? You okay?”

“I…” Cas pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and looks away. 

“Cas?”

He swallows and runs his thumb over Dean’s knuckles, and while it doesn’t do shit to calm Dean’s nerves, the steady back and forth rhythm seems to soothe Cas somehow, so Dean waits until the guy’s ready, and then, when Cas’s deep rumble barely rises above the din of the party happening around them to explain how happy he is that Katie will never know the shit they dealt with before coming out, Dean’s heart jumps in his chest, and he ducks down, pulling Cas’s face to his and kissing him with all the feeling threatening to pour out of his body. It’s not lewd or overly sexual, but it _feels_ like more than he’s ever gotten out of a kiss with anyone else.

Shaking, Dean pulls back and takes a shuddering breath before pressing a quick peck to Cas’s temple, and no one says anything—a freaking miracle, if you ask Dean—but a quick glance around the room reveals Sam casting a knowing look his way. His little brother flashes him a thumbs up to which Dean just rolls his eyes in lieu of a response.

As everyone files out, hugs and promises to swing by the Roadhouse are exchanged, and then Cas and Dean stretch Baby’s legs on the backroads around town while they wait for the Winchester house to calm down for the night.

Then the real party begins.

“Why did I ever agree to do this with you?” Cas asks after they’ve wound the lights into neat coils and hauled them onto the roof by way of the trellis out back. The dude is bundled in a sweatshirt under his trench coat, a thick blue scarf is wound around his throat and covering his chin, and he’s got a beanie pulled low on his head. And he’s still shivering.

“Uh, honestly?” Dean asks, brushing some snow from the shingles in search of the eyes they’d installed a few years back. “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t?”

“Nope.”

“Then how—”

Dean spreads his arms and shrugs. “You never said you’d help, but you never said you _wouldn’t_ either.”

“You’re a terrible person, Dean Winchester, and I rue the day we met.”

“Fuck you,” Dean snorts. “You love me.”

As soon as the words are out, Dean realizes what he said and curses himself for not thinking about the implications of them beforehand. If he was chilly before, he’s practically frozen now, his blood running cold with fear. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! We haven’t been together a day, and I’ve already fucked it up._ He pointedly doesn’t look at Cas as he threads the first strand of lights through the hooks, and Cas doesn’t say anything for several long minutes, and when he does, his voice is lighter than their usual banter requires, or maybe that’s just Dean’s awkwardness superimposing itself onto the situation.

“Katie will enjoy the reindeer,” Cas muses. He adjusts the display he’s working on and glances over his shoulder. “Next year we should buy some for the yard, too.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I’ve always enjoyed the white lights myself.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

_Fucking fuck._

“Uh…” Dean rubs the back of his neck and glances at Cas and then away. “Yeah. You always have.”

“I know.” Cas blinks as Dean nods. “How do you know?”

“I don’t know, man!” Huffing, he fiddles with one of the strands that’d gotten tangled up on itself before his fingers slip and the thing goes sliding over the edge of the roof. “Dammit!”

“Dean.”

Dean glares at the gutter like it’s personally offended him somehow and blows out a slow breath. “It’s the way you look at ‘em,” he says eventually, though his voice is still laced with anger. “Your eyes get all wide, and your face lights up, and you won’t stop talking about how magical it all is or whatever. You do it every year, and I don’t think you even realize how, how…innocent you sound.”

A gloved hand curls around Dean’s deltoid, and he looks helplessly at the angel—and that’s what he is, Dean realizes as the clouds part overhead and a silver beam of moonlight casts a halo around Cas’s head—who’s now shaking his head and smiling in what looks suspiciously like awe. 

“What?” Dean grumbles, flexing his fingers.

But Cas doesn’t say a word, just continues to smile in that soft way he has until they’re done with the lights and sneaking into his mom’s house to stuff a ton of gifts from “Santa” under the tree and to drink the hot coffee she’d made for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

The warm floaty feeling Castiel has been feeling all day follows him off the roof and into Mary’s kitchen as he and Dean share conspiratorial smiles over steaming coffee, and perhaps it’s that feeling that has him murmuring a request into Dean’s ear on the car ride home. It’s something that’s been nagging at him recently but more so since he and Dean acted on the feelings between themselves. Luckily, Dean obliges, pulling the car to a stop on the side of the road and rolls the radio dial until he finds a crackly old folk song on a local late-night show. His hand hesitates there a moment, fingertips dangling on the old knob, and Castiel catches a flash of tongue sweeping across Dean’s lips in the dim glow of the dash right before Dean abruptly exits the vehicle and circles around to his side.

Gentler than he was with his own door—and with a subtle caress to the chrome which Castiel perceives as an apology to his beloved Baby—Dean opens the passenger side and pulls Castiel to his feet. “Ready?” he asks, a cocky grin plastered across his face.

Castiel can’t help but smile back as he nods. He won’t mention Dean’s ticks, and he won’t push Dean into admitting how nervous he is right now despite the curiosity gnawing insistently at his gut. Instead, he lets Dean lead him to the space between the headlights, and together they sway through a series of uncomplicated steps. Left, left, right, back, turn, again. Castiel easily catches on, and soon there’s nothing between them but music and the night as their steps take simple diversions with the occasional dip or spin that leave both men laughing, but then Dean catches Castiel’s eye and sobers suddenly. The grin on his face slips away, and they’re locked into a silent conversation, their bodies moving incrementally closer with each beat of their hearts. It’s peace and surrender, warmth and rest. Dean relaxes into him and rests their foreheads together, and it’s that simple gesture that sends Castiel soaring into the outer atmosphere. 

It’s a gentle sort of thing, as comfortable in its familiarity as it is alarming, and Castiel closes his eyes and drowns in it, letting himself just exist in this perfect moment for as long as he is able. It’s something he doesn’t dare speak of but can feel with every breath. He’s more sure of it than anything else in this life, but he can’t bring himself to say so for fear that it’ll be snatched away, though he suspects Dean’s already put it out there, and Castiel would be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting the rain to come crashing down on them both as a result.

He's terrified, utterly and absolutely twisted by the crushing weight of what will happen when the storm finally rolls in. He and Dean—their friendship—won’t survive a breakup. They can’t. They’ve shared too much in the last thirty years or so, practically become two halves of the same soul, and there’s no way they can undo the final step in the bonding process. It’s like paint. You can pour two colors beside one another, swirl them together until they’re rippling like water, but if you continue to mix the two they’ll create a new shade, and no matter what happens, no matter what other paints you add to the mixture, you’ll never be able to get them back to the colors they were.

They’ve changed too much.

It’s that realization that has Castiel hugging Dean closer and chasing his mouth with a new urgency, that has him backing up and leaning onto the Impala’s hood while pulling Dean on top of him because if this is it, if this is all he gets, Castiel is going to make the most of it.

The December air has long leeched the heat from the metal, and the cold easily cuts through Castiel’s jacket to his skin, but that’s nothing compared to the heat singing through his body. Dean seems to be on board with whatever Castiel wants, pushing and groping and writhing above him, and breathless curses spill from his lips when Castiel hooks his legs around Dean’s hips and gives a none too gentle squeeze. Everything is dialed up, the electricity buzzing across his skin, the flashes of freckles and gold lashes between blinks, the sounds of their lips and clothes and skin moving together, the taste of Dean’s _tongue_.

“C’mon,” Dean groans as the car rocks steadily on her frame.

Every movement sends Castiel higher, torturing him in the most delicious way, the thought of what it’d be like to have all of each other just this side of painful. Dean continues whispering encouragements until Castiel rushes over the edge, but Dean’s not quite there himself, so Castiel hastily takes the reins.

“Cas, _shit_.”

“That’s it,” Castiel whispers before running his tongue over the shell of the other man’s ear. Dean bucks into his palm with a hoarse cry, and Castiel pulls back just in time to witness absolute bliss pass over his face.

Dean slumps hard, his eyes closing as he catches his breath, and Castiel should be uncomfortable, should be worried a car will drive by and see their disheveled state and maybe have them arrested, but he’s not. Instead, the only thing Castiel can bear to allow access to his attention span right now is the way Dean’s lips are parted and a light sheen of sweat has built up on his skin. He’s helpless not to reach out, to touch this glowing perfection above him, and as soon as his hand makes contact, Dean’s eyes flutter open, and he presses a kiss to Castiel’s thumb with a smile.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean laughs, his body shaking and reminding them both that Castiel’s hand is still wrapped around Dean’s dick. It makes his voice break off into a low moan that shoots straight to Castiel’s groin, and how is he already ready for round two? His rebound time hasn’t been this short since he was nineteen. A tiny voice in the back of his mind leans forward with interest and whispers that it’s _Dean_. He’s the reason. He’s always been the reason.

Unfortunately, Castiel is inclined to agree.

Forbidden words sit heavy on his tongue, and Castiel aches to relay this newest revelation to his best friend, but that same fear from before rises up to break apart the storm clouds before they can reach the lovers. Once more, they’re safe, but the horizon remains uncomfortably grey.

_____________

“This is bullshit,” Dean grumbles, adjusting his tie in the mirror. After the New Year passes, he’s loading up all his freaking suits and dropping them off at the nearest shelter. Except for the blue one, his ass looks great in those pants. And the charcoal. Cas said it makes his eyes pop. Then there’s the one with the little pinstripes that—

Okay, so maybe he’s _not_ gonna get rid of all his suits, but he’s definitely not gonna be wearing one anytime soon.

_Fuckin’ Novaks,_ Dean thinks with a twist to his mouth. Cas moves in his periphery, closing his laptop with a snap before stowing it in his bag, and Dean looks over his reflection’s shoulder to see Cas hovering uncertainly in the doorway, his collar still undone and royal blue tie gripped loosely in his fist. Dude’s been squirrelly as hell since their midnight rendezvous on Baby’s hood, not in a bad way, just…different. He can’t put his finger on what exactly changed there. Maybe he took it too far, maybe Dean really had fucked things up on the roof, or maybe it’s something Dean’s not even aware of doing and Cas is just being polite until they get home and will end things there.

Yeah…

Hands slide around his middle, and Dean closes his eyes and leans into the warmth at his back as Cas hooks his chin over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Dean starts to shake his head, hesitates, and sighs. “Just tired of the pony shows.”

“If you’d rather we didn’t go—”

“Nah, man.” Dean turns and pulls Cas to him by his belt. “You haven’t seen Gabe in too long, and Kali’s great, and even Anna’s not terrible _all_ the time. It’s just all the crap that goes with it. You know, the hors d’oeuvres and crystal and champagne and God awful classical music I can handle, but the stock market discussions and greasy palms and ' _arriving_ ' with the other guests out front like we haven't been staying here all week? Dude, I can only smile and nod for so long before someone gets punched.”

“Ah.” Cas nods in understanding. “Michael?”

“Bingo. I'm telling you, Cas, I'm this close.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you punch him,” Cas muses with a curve to his lips, “and Gabe would probably film it for you if you’ll let him know ahead of time.”

Dean grins and shakes his head before holding his arms out to either side. “So? How do I look?”

“I’d do you.”

“Of course you would,” Dean snorts.

Something like a growl rips out of Cas’s chest, and the next thing Dean knows, he’s seated on the vanity, the faucet digging into his lower spine, and Cas is _right there_.

“Jesus,” Dean squeaks as the man stares up at him through his lashes. There’s a predatory sort of gleam there that makes Dean want to bend over and beg, and while he’s been known to get into some kinky shit, Dean Winchester does not beg.

“I would,” Cas growls, “but not before I took you apart slowly, gradually, and worshipped you the way you deserve.”

_Holyfuckingshitonacracker_.

“Uh-huh,” is all Dean manages, and he tries to subtly shift his body so that Cas can’t tell exactly how hard he is right now, but Cas, the fucker that he is, notices, and the grin that spreads across his face does little to help things.

“Would you enjoy that, Dean?”

“Yeah.”

Cas leans in until his nose grazes the cord of Dean’s neck, and he drags it up behind his ear. “I will.”

“What?” Dean gasps, eyes falling shut.

“When we have more time,” Cas promises in a breath, “but I want to do it the right way.”

Dean groans long and loud as Cas backs away. He hops off the counter and adjusts his pants while glaring at his friend in annoyance. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

“And I hate you.”

“Of course you do, Dean.”

“Ass.”

“Yours is very fine.”

Dean cracks, laughter bursting out of him as Cas grins proudly, but he’s not off the hook that easy. Pointing a finger at him, Dean says, “You’ll pay for this one day. Mark my words, angel.”

_____________

Hand in hand, they sneak in through the service entrance—because yes, in Castiel’s family that’s a thing—and dodge the bustling waitstaff as easily as when they were kids. While he can't do much about his family, Castiel can keep Dean from arriving at the front door. Bartholomew is at the swinging door of the kitchen scrutinizing every platter before dismissing the unacceptable and waving through those deemed fit for consumption, and it’s a wonder he hasn’t yet spotted the couple crouched behind a dozen bottles of champagne, but he’s likely too busy berating the servers for their, in his words, “despicable scraps they call uniforms.”

“Just like old times,” Dean chuckles as he snags a handful of mini quiches and stuffs one into his mouth.

Castiel smirks and shakes his head, eyes still on the butler. “Any ideas?”

“Squints?”

“While that may have worked well in our teens, as your pretend husband, I’m offended that you’d suggest making out with someone else as a diversion.”

Dean rolls his eyes and mutters something about Wendy Peppercorn under his breath before shrugging. “Uh…Oh!” He snaps his fingers and rolls his lips between his teeth, holding them there for a few moments before jumping up and striding toward Bartholomew with his nose in the air. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he says once the old butler’s gaze lands on him.

“Excuse me?” Bartholomew asks.

“Excu..?” Dean appears so offended Castiel nearly cracks. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I assure you, Mr. Winchester, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you’ll be so kind as to enlighten me—”

“This!” Dean waves one of the mini quiches under Bartholomew’s nose and tosses it over his shoulder before he can get a hand on it. “These have _shrimp_ in them! Do you have any idea what shrimp does to Mr. Roman’s wife? _She’s allergic to shellfish!”_

Bartholomew pales but stands his ground. “No,” he insists. “Mrs. Roman isn’t allergic to shellfish. If she was she would have—”

“Not the last Mrs. Roman, you dunce, but the current one is, and Mr. Roman is pissed, so if I were you I’d start labeling these bitches before you have to stab her with an Epi Pen.”

Bartholomew dashes to the big walk-in pantry and bumps into the head chef on the way, and the two begin yelling at each other in French while the rest of the kitchen looks on. Meanwhile, Dean holds open the door for Castiel and gestures to it with a grand sweeping motion.

“I’m impressed,” Castiel says once they’ve melted into the crowd.

Dean takes his hand and begins swaying along with the music as velvet and sequined skirts brush their shoes. “Who says old dogs can’t learn new tricks, huh?”

The house is positively packed, as if every conservative politician and CEO in the Midwest had descended upon the Novak house for the holiday, but amazingly Castiel and Dean still manage to stand out. Most of the women appear mildly shocked before staring past the couple as if they don’t exist at all, but the men openly glare and hold their wives a bit tighter. Of course, there are exceptions. Kali and Dean share grins across the room, Gabriel flashing Castiel a double thumbs up at her side, and a tall blonde in a velvet trimmed slip of a dress actually appraises them like meat as Lucifer twirls her past.

“What’s her deal?” Dean murmurs into his ear.

“I think that’s Lillith,” Castiel explains. “Gabriel told me she’s in charge of some of Luci’s underground dealings. He thinks it’s a sex trafficking ring, but he can’t prove it.”

“Shit. That’s awful.”

Lillith catches Castiel’s gaze and narrows her eyes slightly before curling her lips into a feral grin that makes him shiver. “Yes, it is.”

Eventually the band stops, and Michael takes the stage to make a speech about the “reason for the season” and allude to the upcoming election, and then he asks everyone to bow their heads as he leads them in a prayer.

Castiel’s relationship with faith has never been simple. As a child he questioned more things than not, and eventually he learned he was better off keeping his mouth shut lest his parents give him disapproving looks, and when he became a teen and learned how to research his own answers, his faith continued to wane. How, he wondered, in a church that supposedly follows the teachings of someone who instructed His disciples to love others first, could that same church openly mock and hate others?

It wasn’t until he was at his lowest that things finally made sense.

Late one Friday night their senior year of college, Castiel was walking back to his and Dean’s apartment when his mother called and nagged him about his lack of attendance to mass. He thinks he told her something about focusing on his classes before finals, but whatever it was didn’t fly, and she proceeded to lecture him for nearly the entire walk home. It was before he’d garnered the strength to stand up to his parents, so the call was just another weight added to Castiel’s shoulder’s, and he found himself dragging his feet up the final stretch of sidewalk to their building, and when he finally made it to the door, he found himself unable to continue.

Despite the cool March rain starting to drizzle, Castiel sank to the front steps and cradled his head in his hands, and that’s where he stayed until Dean found him some two hours later.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean had huffed as dragged Castiel into their apartment. He immediately stripped Castiel of his hoodie and long sleeve shirt and pulled him into his side before leading him to his bedroom and instructing him to lose his jeans as well. 

“What’re you thinking, huh?” Dean asked, wrapping a thick quilt around Castiel’s shoulders and guiding him to sit on his bed. Once he seemed satisfied Castiel would hold the blanket in place, he jogged to the bathroom and returned with a large beach towel and began working it through Castiel’s hair. “You could’ve froze.”

“I wish I had.”

Dean stopped, his breath shaking on an inhale, before continuing to dry him off. “Don’t say that,” Dean whispered. “Don’t ever say that unless you mean it, and if it ever gets that bad, you tell me first, you hear me?”

Castiel stared blankly at the scarred hardwood beside Dean’s dresser but didn’t say anything.

“Cas!”

“I hear you,” he replied automatically.

“Do you?” Dean’s breath hitched, and when Castiel met his gaze he realized his friend had begun tearing up. Shame, hot and fierce, shot through Castiel—how could he put this on Dean—but Dean wouldn’t look away. “Talk to me, angel.”

“I’m going to Hell,” Castiel whispered.

Cupping Castiel’s face in his big hands, Dean stared at him long and hard before pulling him up the mattress and holding him against his chest. After a few minutes of just lying there, the only light coming from the bathroom across the hall, Dean sighed and ran his hands through Castiel’s still-damp mop of hair. “You know that’s crap, right? I don’t know much about God or faith or whatever, but nobody in their right mind would punish you for who you are. You’re a good man, Cas, the best one I know, and I need you to hear me when I say that nothing, and I mean _nothing_ about you is bad.”

“I haven’t been to mass in months,” Castiel murmurs, leaning into Dean’s hand. He probably shouldn’t, but it just feels too good, and he’s so sapped right now he needs whatever comfort he can get. “And I…I don’t want to.”

“So, don’t. Who says you have to go to church to have a relationship with a higher power, huh? Look at those chicks that run the coffee shop across from the park. They’re always talking about how happy they are doing yoga and meditating and stuff. Maybe you should try that.” Castiel makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat, and he can practically hear Dean rolling his eyes. “Look,” at Dean’s gentle prodding on his jaw, Castiel looks up and meets his eyes, “you deserve to be happy, Cas, and if what you’re doing isn’t working, then find something that does. If that means finding a less than mainstream way of communicating with God, then go for it.”

And he had. As a result, Castiel’s faith grew stronger than he thought possible, and he found a new understanding of his spiritual self that he hadn’t been able to make sense of after twenty years in his parents’ church. And to think it all started with that one conversation.

It’s with that in mind that Castiel centers himself while Michael delivers a long-winded and no doubt rehearsed prayer. When it’s over, the room resounding with a chorus of “Amen,” Castiel pulls Dean to his chest and thanks him for helping him reach that enlightenment with a long and wet kiss. Dean’s frozen for all of two seconds before he returns the gesture in kind, cupping Castiel’s jaw and gently sucking on his tongue, and Castiel doesn’t buckle, but he does groan low into Dean’s mouth. They part breathlessly and stare into each other’s eyes.

“What was that for?” Dean asks.

“For being Dean Winchester.”

“Damn. Is that all?”

Castiel laughs, but as his eyes fall on his mother across the room, the sound dies in his throat. Naomi’s furious. Apathy, he knows. Nagging, he can deal with, but this…even from this distance, Castiel can see the way her eyes burn and her muscles strain. His father is there, too, but he’s whispering harshly into Bartholomew’s ear and clenching the butler’s lapel in his fist. Bartholomew quickly glances Castiel’s way, eyes wide, but as Chuck shakes his jacket, Bartholomew nods once and hurries away.

_____________

“Finally,” Dean breathes once the party winds down. His shoes are killing him after several hours on his feet, and his collar is too tight, and he can’t decide if he wants to sleep for a week and a half or peel the clothes off his pretend-husband-slash-real-boyfriend. Either way, he can’t wait to melt into the mattress with Cas. The memory of their post-prayer kiss flashes through Dean’s mind as they make their way out of the house, and he hums a little. Maybe he can convince the angel to go a little farther tonight, round another base. He does have that travel-sized bottle of lube in his bag…

Cas shuts the door to the pool house behind them, and with his head still firmly in the gutter, Dean can’t help but tilt his head and admire the line of his shoulders and the shape of his ass in the well-fitting suit. Cas catches him in the act and crooks a smile but stays silent and just stares.

Just like that night in the snow, Dean breaks. He rushes Cas, their lips meeting in a breathless flurry as they back into the wall. Dean wedges a thigh between Cas’s, and the angel bites down hard on his lower lip with a growl before flipping their positions.

_Okay, that’s really fucking hot._

Dean gasps as the other man mouths at his jaw and makes a play for the back of his thighs, and Dean complies, hopping up and hooking his ankles together at the small of Cas’s back. It’s the perfect angle to grind down on him and—yep. Cas is just as hard as Dean and nailing the cleft of his ass perfectly with gentle but rhythmic thrusts.

“Want you,” Dean breathes, head thumping against the wall. Cas runs a tongue along the shell of his ear, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “Please, Cas. I—I need—”

Cas pulls back, and, curious, Dean peers at him through half-lidded eyes. “What do you want, Dean?”

The deep rumble vibrates down to his core, and Dean finds himself rambling a string of things that are _definitely_ not safe for work until Cas cuts him off with another mind-blowing kiss. He feels Cas shifting his stance as if preparing to take the full brunt of Dean’s weight, but then the door rattles on its frame, and they both groan in annoyance.

“Privacy,” Dean mutters. “I want some God-damned privacy.”

“Open the fucking door!” Gabe calls.

It’s Cas who finally gives in and flips the lock on the door, rolling his eyes and sighing, “Gabriel, we—”

“Mary’s house is on fire.”


	12. Chapter 12

It’s like someone dumped a bucket of ice water down Dean’s shirt.

Without thinking, he pushes past Gabe and nearly slips on the icy walkway in his haste to get to Baby. As he’s turning the ignition, Cas slides in beside him, and they’re off. He floors it as soon as they’re turned around, and Gabe must have called the main house because the gate is open when they reach it, and since Cas is watching the darkened road to either side and gives him the go-ahead, Dean doesn’t slow down as they whip out onto the highway. Baby fishtails on the slick pavement, but she’s been putty in Dean’s hands for years now, hasn’t failed him yet, and tonight is no exception. She comes out of the turn easily, devouring the road and growling for more.

Cas is his peripherals, his deep voice calmly telling Dean whether or not he can make the next intersection before the oncoming traffic, and it’s a good thing, too, because otherwise Dean probably would’ve killed someone by now. All he can focus on is the thought of his family, his _home_ , being destroyed, and he can’t do anything to stop it. They could all be dead right now for all he knows. They could be dead, and where was Dean? Drinking champagne and making out with his fake husband. He never should’ve gone to the party. He should’ve told Cas to go and headed to his mom’s. Flashes of the worst possible outcomes flip through his head—Katie screaming from a second story window, Eileen on a gurney as first responders work on her, Sammy missing, his mom burning alive…

_What’d you think would happen? You know better than to believe in fairytales._

He should’ve been there. He should’ve saved them.

_This is what happens when you let your guard down. Your happiness isn’t worth this._

A warm hand squeezes his shoulder gently, and Dean’s breath shakes on an exhale.

_Focus_.

Swallowing, he wraps his fingers tighter around the wheel and urges Baby on.

_____________

They see the glow three blocks away. 

Sparks light up the night sky behind the treeline that divides the neighborhoods, and Dean curses under his breath as he sees the intermittent flashes of red and blue mixed in. The end of the street is blocked off, but he cruises up to the beat cop anyway and cranks his window.

“You’ll have to find another route,” the officer says without preamble. No telling who all he’s had to turn away so far.

“It’s my mom’s house,” Dean explains. “My brother and his family were staying there, too, and I gotta make sure they’re okay.”

Instantly the guy’s expression goes slack, and he flicks wide eyes over to Cas before swallowing. “Oh.”

“Oh? What the he—”

Cas cuts him off smoothly, his voice calm and respectful and everything Dean’s isn’t at the moment, and Dean leans into his touch, seeping as much comfort as possible from the familiar weight on his thigh. “As you can see, officer, my friend is shaken up, so if we can just get to the scene and confirm his family is safe…?”

“I’m not supposed to let anyone through,” the cop hedges.

“I understand,” Cas says, “and we won’t interfere with the work being done, but he needs to be there in case his family is transferred to the hospital.”

The cop glances around quickly before nodding to himself and stepping back. “You boys be careful,” he says while grabbing the radio clipped to his shoulder. 

Baby’s tires drown out the radio’s static.

Chaos is the only thing Dean can use to describe the scene when his tire runs up onto a neighbor’s curb. It seems like everyone’s crowded around the ambulances and firetrucks, and uniformed people are rushing around and shouting while a couple of news crews relay details back to local stations, but he doesn’t see his family anywhere, and he’s not sure which way to go except forward, so he starts shoving his way between bodies and barely hears Cas snapping at the rude comments thrown his way because all he can hear is the roar, and all he can feel is the heat, and all he can think is, _No, no, no, please, God, no._

A grey head of hair bobs up to him as he breaks through the crowd, but he doesn’t spare a second thought to who it could be, just shoves them to the side and takes off at a sprint.

“Dean!”

Sammy’s voice stops him in his tracks, and Dean’s head swivels until he locks gazes with the idiot towering over an EMT. The brothers meet at the edge of the grass, and Dean squeezes Sam hard before pulling back and taking note of the soot marring his tee and face. The kid’s eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn’t sound great, but he’ll live. Still, Dean’s hesitant to let himself relax until he gets the all clear from someone in charge. “What happened? Where’s everyone else? How did you get out?”

Sam shakes his head and combs a hand through his hair. “We don’t know. We were asleep, and Eileen got up to pee. That’s when she smelled the smoke, so she woke me up, and we grabbed Katie and climbed out her window. They just left for the hospital to run a couple of tests, but the EMT assured me it was just routine for her age.”

“What about Mom?” 

Sam freezes. It’s that same deer in the headlights look he’s always gotten when he’s trying to hide something from his older brother, but instead of pissing him off this time, it makes Dean’s blood run cold.

“Sam?” Cas asks when it looks like he won’t say anything. “Where’s your mother?”

“We—we, uh, don’t know. The fire had already spread over most of the house when we got out, and then the firetruck showed up, and they wouldn’t let us go back inside, and I haven’t seen her yet. It all went up so fast…”

Heedless of the consequences, Dean’s only thought is to get inside what remains of his childhood home, but he’s jerked to an abrupt stop just as he reaches the porch. Cas swings around him, fists clutching his shirt and shoving him back. “You can’t go in there! You have to stay back!”

“She’s still in there!” Dean screams. A loud _crack_ echoes from the building, and they both look up as a part of the roof caves in. _“MOM!”_

“Dean, Dean! Look at me!” Cas grips his face and stares hard at him. “It’s too late. If she’s not out by now…”

His gaze bounces between Cas and the flames as it hits him.

“No.” It’s broken, a poor imitation of a hoarse cry that hardly makes a sound amid the cacophony of noises surrounding them at the moment, but Cas, being the perceptive bastard he is, catches it and puts just enough pressure on Dean’s chest to send him stumbling back. Dean’s hands fly to his hair, and he gasps once, twice, and a third time before squeezing his eyes shut and praying to wake up from this nightmare. “No, no, no, no, no,” he whispers.

“Dean—”

“No!” He rips out of Cas’s grasp and points a finger at him as a couple of firemen approach him. “No, she’s not—she’s not dead! She can’t be! Get the hell out of my way, Cas!”

But Cas just keeps on pleading as the firemen attempt to manhandle Dean off the lawn. “Dean, please, just—”

“Don’t touch me!”

A third set of hands wrap around his bicep as he stumbles back, and Dean belatedly realizes the voice in his ear belongs to Jody, the local sheriff and the same person who’d tried to get his attention earlier.

“Dean? Come with me, okay? Let’s get you checked out.”

She leads him over to the same ambulance as Sam, and his little brother leans his shoulder against Dean’s as a solid reassurance while Jody rattles off something about shock.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs eventually, more to himself than anything. His face is buried in his hands, so the words are likely unintelligible to those around him anyway. 

“…to my boys? What’s going on?”

“Mom?!” Sam’s already on his feet when Dean looks up, and somehow Dean finds the will not to melt onto the bumper.

Mary—soot-covered and still wearing her white nightgown and purple robe, silver-streaked blonde curls reflecting the orange light—is quite possibly one of the most beautiful sights Dean’s ever been witness to. She grills them for information even as the paramedic and EMT determine she needs to head to the hospital, too, and Dean would laugh with relief if he hadn’t been so damn terrified a few minutes earlier. Cas remains a silent but steady presence at Dean’s side through Mary’s interrogation, and she actually pulls him in for a hug before smacking Dean’s arm when she learns he’d tried to go in after her. “Are you out of your mind?” she shrieks. “You could’ve been killed!”

“Me?” Dean gapes at her, taken aback, before leaping off the bumper and clenching his fists at his sides. “I—we thought you were dead!”

“Well, I wasn’t!”

“Then where the hell were you?!”

“Chasing that guy down the street!”

Cas, Sam, Dean, and Jody all speak at once. _“What guy?”_

Mary’s eyebrows hit her hairline, and she flings a finger toward the back of the house. “Um, the guy who thought it was a good idea to throw a Molotov cocktail through my window! What? I was supposed to just let him get away?! He came this close to hitting me with it!”

They all stare at each other a beat before Jody claps her hands. “Annnnnd, this is officially a criminal investigation. Mary, let these ladies get you to the hospital, and I’ll meet you there for questioning. Sam, go see that wife and kid of yours. Dean—”

“I’m riding with Mom.” He and Cas lock eyes for a moment, and Cas nods in understanding. He’ll follow in Baby and meet him there.

“Alright,” Jody says. “And for the love of God, would someone call Ellen before she shows up? The last thing I need is her breaking down the door to the station because she can’t get in touch with anyone.”

_____________

The coffee machine makes a diseased spluttering sound as it chokes up the last dredges of the evening’s brew. Castiel’s mouth twists, but he dumps a few sugars into the cup and gives it a good stir before popping a lid on top. At least Dean will have something halfway palatable.

“Rough night?”

Castiel nods and glances up to meet the eyes of what turns out to be a member of the hospital’s cleaning staff, according to his jumpsuit and flipped name badge at least. “You could say that,” he admits.

The man nods and continues wiping down the counter. “Fire?” Castiel’s head snaps up, and he assesses the man carefully. “It’s the soot,” the man says, gesturing to his own face. “We get a lot of those this time of year on account of the space heaters and such people have in their homes. It's sad though. A lot of folks aren't right with the Almighty when they pass. How about your bunch? Did everyone make it out okay?”

“Thankfully, yes, although it was close.”

“Well,” the man drawls, and there’s something in the way he says it, something in the way the yellow display light from the coffee machine flashes across his cold eyes, “thank God for that.”

He turns and strides for the door, and a chill works its way up Castiel’s spine as the man disappears into the darkness outside the cafeteria. Glancing down at his cups, Castiel sees the man’s badge on the counter and almost chases him down to return it, but when he flips the laminated card over, the picture is that of a middle-aged Hispanic woman named Rosa.

Shocked, Castiel drops the badge and runs outside, but the man is long gone. His chest heaves and his fingers flex as he works through the meaning behind this discovery, and he wants to call Dean, _needs_ to hear how he's jumping to conclusions, but if he's not, if Dean's family really was targeted because of them-- _because of me_ \--he needs to be sure before he says something.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Castiel taps out a harried message.

_2:35a.m.: I need your help._

_____________

Hours after her initial exam, the doctors determine that Katie, due to her history as a preemie putting her at higher risk for complications from smoke inhalation, will be kept overnight for observation while the adults are released.

Ellen showed up to the hospital not long after they'd arrived and nearly tore down the reception desk to get to them. Then, after ensuring everyone was alive and well, she gripped Mary's hand tight and told them they'd all stay with her until Sam's bunch went home and Mary got sick of her. That was... interesting to see but nothing less than what Dean's come to expect from Ellen. She'd all but adopted their bunch from birth anyway, but to think she'd offered his mom a permanent place for as long as she wanted? That went above and beyond anything he could have considered.

Leaning his forearms on his thighs, Dean picks at the stiff plastic band on his wrist both grateful no one has been seriously injured and terrified of what it means that someone attempted to murder his family. Mary’d given the best description she had of the arsonist, but the likelihood of finding the average sized white male wearing a black hoodie and dark pants who’d targeted the Winchesters was slim to nil, and the thing is, where would Jody even start? It’s not like the Winchesters have a list of people gunning for them. They aren’t into shady crap, and they haven’t royally pissed anyone off, so why, _why_ , would someone want to kill them?

“Jesus,” Sam groans, sinking into the chair beside Dean. Closing his eyes, he leans his head back against the cement wall and sighs.

Dean studies him, noting the way his body sags from exhaustion and stress. “How ya doin’, man?”

Cracking an eye at his older brother, Sam scoffs and shakes his head. “Fan-fucking-tastic. I’m…God, Dean. I’m just glad we’re alive.”

“How’s Eileen holding up?”

“Better than I am. I swear, nothing rattles her.”

“And Katie?”

“She’s fine, resilient like her mom and asking the nurses a ton of questions about everything." His lips twitch, and he rolls his eyes fondly. "She's got the staff wrapped around her finger already."

“Good. That’s…that’s good.”

They sit in silence for several minutes while the hospital staff bustles around them until at last Sam breaks it. “Where’s Cas?”

“Coffee run.” Dean scrubs a hand over his hair and pushes down the flare of warmth in his chest. Cas had been there the entire time offering quiet words of reassurance and gentle touches, and Dean should have been leaning into him, _should_ have been savoring the comfort from his best friend, but…

But there’s a lead weight in his gut, a heavy sense of something heading their way.

“I like him,” Sam says resolutely, as if he hasn’t known Cas basically his whole life. Dean just kind of gapes at the giant beside him, wondering where all this is coming from.

“O…kay?”

Sam eyeballs him then, and it’s in that subtle narrowing of his eyes that makes Dean feel like a bug under a microscope all of a sudden. “He’s good for you, Dean. Tonight…it’s made me realize a few things, and I want you to know that I fully support you both.”

“Dude,” Dean huffs, “what’re you getting at? You’re kinda freaking me out here.”

“Dean, I know.”

_Son of a bitch._

Swallowing, Dean glances up and down the hallway. “Uh. You-you know?”

“About the fake marriage thing. Gabe told us.”

“Us?!” Dean jumps up and paces down the hall, but—as per fucking usual—Sam doesn’t let him go easily.

The younger Winchester cuts him off where a couple of hallways meet and throws a hand out. “Eileen and myself, but we’re not mad, Dean. Whatever the reason behind it, it’s okay. We just don’t want you to miss out on what you could really have with Cas if you—”

“Woah, whoa, whoa, just stop. Alright?” Dean blows out a breath and wipes his hand down his face before gesturing to his ring. “Cas and I are married, okay? I don’t know what Gabriel told you, but you’ve gotta know that dude lies, and—”

“Would you shut up? Dean,” Sam grabs the front of Dean’s shirt, a desperate move he hasn’t pulled in years, not since their dad died and Dean had to tell him the news, “it’s me. I know you, man, and after everything, can’t you just be honest with me for once? What the hell’s going on? Why are you lying to everyone?”

Dean’s mouth works soundlessly for a few seconds as he attempts to come up with something—anything—to tell Sam, but eventually, muttering a few choice words as he does, he gives up. “Fine,” Dean says as his hands slap his thighs. “It’s not real, or it wasn’t at least, but what the hell was I supposed to do, huh? Let Cas walk into the lions’ den by himself? Screw that!”

“So, it was all for show? Why?”

“Dude, you’ve met Naomi. She’s awful! She called Cas when we were down in Vegas a while back and was going on and on with her usual crap, but he was drunk, and he said something about being married to shut her up, so once word got out, I offered to be his fake husband or whatever. Then we got here, and it was so easy, Sam, like nothing had to change between us to keep up the act except the occasional kiss, and even that wasn’t too far off because when Cas drinks tequila he gets _wasted_ , and I’ve always acted like the kisses didn’t bother me, but they were different from when other people kissed me, and—”

“Dean!”

He stops midsentence, cheeks flaring as he realizes he’d just spilled everything and more to his brother. He's never told anyone about their drunken kisses, not a soul, and he's terrified of the power behind speaking about it out loud, like it'll make them mean more than they did. _Do?_ Ducking his head, Dean clenches his jaw and mutters, “Sorry.”

“Why?” Sam huffs a laugh, and it’s enough to make Dean glance up. “You’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

Sam stuffs his hands in his pockets and grins down at him. “Like I said, you and Cas are good together, and you’ve got my support no matter what. I’m happy for you.”

“But you just said—It’s fake, Sam! All of it!”

“Are you sure about that? Because from where I’m sitting, you two have something real, something most people search their whole lives for.”

“Sam—” Dean swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and glances up and down the hallway. It’s littered with the usual hospital crowd, people in scrubs and white coats on their way to do whatever the hell their job requires, family members camped out on plastic chairs and leaning against the walls, but the answers Dean’s looking for aren’t there. “Can you keep this between us? Mom can’t know, okay? It'll kill her."

Sam glances over Dean’s shoulder before smiling again and backing away. “Whatever you say. I’m gonna go check on the girls.”

Dean watches him leave and is so caught up in his head he nearly shits himself when moments later Cas speaks.

“How is he?”

Dean turns and accepts the cup pressed into his palm before narrowing his eyes at his friend. _Is that all he is? Is that all_ I _am to_ him _?_ “Sam’s fine. All of Katie’s tests have been normal so far, so that’s good, but what’s up with you? You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”

Cas swallows and glances away, the tell making Dean feel even more off-balance. “Shitty coffee.”

“I hear that.”

“And you?”

Dean sinks into a chair and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I—I wanna be, but…” Cas’s hand covers his, and Dean’s eyes widen slightly. “I don’t know what to think.”

“You’ve been through a horrific event, Dean, and that takes time to process. Shock isn’t exactly a strange reaction to have.”

“No, I know.” Dean pulls away under the guise of cradling his head in his hands and squeezes his eyes shut while trying to put his jumble of emotions into something Cas will understand. That doesn’t deter Cas though. He just slips his arm around Dean’s hunched form and pulls him into his side before rubbing his shoulder gently. It’s the slow strokes of Cas’s thumb that quiet Dean’s mind, and he leans into the touch a little as the words trip off his tongue. “I just…I don’t understand why someone would do that, you know? Why go after us? What did we do to deserve this?”

Cas is silent for a long time, long enough that Dean thinks he probably won’t say anything at all, but then his phone is ringing, and before Dean can react, Cas has pressed it to his ear and disappeared down the corridor, and the rock in Dean’s gut sinks a little lower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close to the end I can TASTE it!
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? Constructive criticism?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first full-fledged Destiel fic, so I'm pretty nervous, but let me know what you think. Constructive criticism, thoughts, and kind comments are always appreciated.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
